Partners
by FanficwriterGHC
Summary: Walls fall down; that's the nature of the beast. And no matter how Kate looks at it, she's staring at piles of rubble. And from rubble, where do they go next? Slight spoilers for 4x11 and beyond.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Partners**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Castle, just my over active imagination.**

**Summary: Walls fall down; that's the nature of the beast. And no matter how Kate looks at it, she's staring at piles of rubble. And from rubble, where do they go next? Slight spoilers for 4x11 and beyond. **

**Author's Note: So, this is, in some ways, a prequel to _Coordination_. The only spoilers I'm working from here are Tamala and Andrew's comments about Ryan's wedding. From there and onward, it will probably be all mine. I'll warn you if that changes. So, on to the story:**

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><p><strong>Chapter 1:<br>**

"You know, it's nice to do this without trying to book a suspect," Castle whispered in her ear as they twirled around again, moving fluidly to the soft music, even as other couples kept to a gentle sway.

"Has it's charms," Kate replied with a small smile, shifting closer to 'avoid' being hit by Jenny's Aunt and Uncle, who were more than a little tipsy, and less than a little uncoordinated.

Castle laughed and simply nudged his hand further across her back, his large fingers warm against her exposed skin. She kept trying to convince herself that she hadn't purchased the deep purple, floor-length gown specifically because it plunged so low in the back; she hadn't thought about his big hands and careful fingers caressing her skin. But that was crap. Of course she had.

"Have I said how amazing you look tonight, Kate?" he asked, his voice soft against her cheek. He'd been calling her Kate all night—not one 'Detective' to be found.

"You may have mentioned it," she whispered back, smiling unabashedly. There was something about the wedding, and the image of Jenny and Ryan rubbing noses over Castle's shoulder that made it impossible to keep to her usual, albeit less-than-subtle, protocol about compliments. She felt him smile back and the hand holding hers squeezed gently. "You don't look so bad yourself," she added, running her fingers over the hairs at the nape of his neck.

They'd forgone their traditional distance about five dances ago, and now, as she caught sight of Lanie and Esposito wrapped in a similar embrace a few couples over, she couldn't deny that she and Castle looked every bit as much a pair of lovers. She could feel his pleased grin and the small puff of air he let out at her words. They weren't lovers, though most of her thought they damn well should be. She sighed, urged on by her own impatience and no small amount of champagne.

It wouldn't have been an issue if Castle hadn't had his face pressed to hers. "What?" he prompted, bumping her cheek with his nose. When _had_ they decided that this kind of physicality was kosher, again? And why hadn't they done this sooner? And perhaps in private?

"Nothing," she denied, gently turning them so he could get a look at Lanie and Javi. "They look good together," she offered quietly.

"Yeah," he murmured, his voice a little gruff. "They really do."

"You owe me twenty, by the way," she told him as he spun them around again. "You thought it would be after the wedding."

"Isn't enough that our good friends have found their way back to happiness? It's a bit tacky to actually bet on their love life, isn't it?" he replied, his voice forcibly serious.

Kate bit back a laugh. "What, like they don't have much more riding on us?" she fired back, realizing a moment too late exactly what had just flown out of her alcohol and Castle-loosened mouth.

He sucked in a breath and absently tightened his hold on her, as though he was afraid she'd take off. He wasn't far from the mark, but his shoulder was a very comfortable place to hide her face, and running would mean leaving the warmth of his arms. He'd follow her anyway. That didn't stop her from taking the cowards way out and remaining silent. She almost expected him to call her on it. She almost wanted him to. She was so tired of hiding.

"You do realize, by forcing me to pony up, you're validating that, right?" he said after a quiet minute.

So, not quite calling her on it, but not dropping it either. She took a deep breath, unintentionally inhaling his scent as she did so. He always smelled so good. But that wasn't the point. She needed to get on board and toe the line with him, because this was their dance—their metaphorical dance—where they smiled and flirted and inched closer, without ever really doing anything.

"Does it matter? They'll keep it up either way," she replied, lifting her head to return to their former position, his cheek warm against hers.

"Any way we can get in on it?" he wondered.

She sucked in a breath and fought the urge to pull back to look at him. It was safer to stay cheek-to-cheek. Then it was just words. She could handle his words (oh the lies she was telling herself tonight), but his eyes might just topple her over. "How?" she asked, hoping she didn't sound as breathless as she felt. This was crossing the line. Where was the line? More over, where was that wall?

He hummed as he thought, turning them in a circle to the faster swing that had started up without either noticing. The vibrations warmed her down to her toes. God, if humming did that to her, would she survive his singing? Would he be a singer? She could see him belting in the shower, but that would make her laugh. She wondered if he would sing into her ear as they swayed by the Christmas tree, or around their bedroom when…Whoa. Down, girl. Hypothetical bets were far enough. There was no need to fantasize about things that might never happen.

The thought made her inexplicably sad and she felt herself inch closer in response. He allowed it, welcomed her further into his embrace without comment, still humming along with the saxophone as it crooned out the melody to "Sing Sing Sing." They really should be moving faster than they were, but this wasn't a moment for real dancing.

"Well, we could go in on it, or, well, I could," he corrected and she could feel him grinning. "No one would ever believe you if you tried."

"Are you saying I'm no fun?" she teased, flicking his ear. He chuckled into _her_ ear and she fought a shiver. Right, play with fire, and you get burned. And didn't that low voice send tingles down her spine like little licks of flame?

"I'm saying that your mere participation would blow our cover," he told her cheek, her neck, her shoulder—everywhere his warm breath fell against her skin. "But, back to my plan." She couldn't help but smile. He had this tone when he was spinning her a theory, a little excited, a little apprehensive, and more than a little playful. "What if I throw in a random date and then, well, I take you out that night," he suggested, his voice lowering in volume as he reached the end of his plan.

Kate sucked in a breath. This was a moment, wasn't it? This was a decision about the line, the wall, the happy land of denial they'd been living in. Spending eight months pretending things weren't the way they were was exhausting. She rarely admitted how much control it took not to smile, not to laugh, not to grab him and kiss him silly. Hell, she'd only told her therapist that she thought she _might_ be closer to ready than she thought just over a month ago.

"It's…never mind. Forget I mentioned it," he mumbled after a few minutes. Damn. She hadn't said anything. Crap.

"No, I…" she stammered, taking a deep breath before pulling back enough to meet his eyes.

"Seriously. I just wanted to one up them. No harm done, Beckett," he smiled. But it was the false smile—the one that didn't reach his eyes. And she wouldn't even touch the 'Beckett.'

"That sounds like a good plan, Castle," she offered, the words flying out before she could stop them. It did. But it didn't. But…oh hell.

"Really?" he gasped, taking a second to spin her out and back, nearly tripping her.

She gave a surprised laugh. Right, swing dancing—they were supposed to be swing dancing, not pressed up against each other like there was a wall at her back or his. "I think I could handle an evening of you," she told him once they were face to face again, moving quickly but fluidly, just like they did everything else, except this conversation, apparently. His eyes were wide and excited, but hesitant, like he wasn't quite sure of his next move.

But he was Castle, and she could see him drawing on that charm—his charm for her and only her. "Could you now? And what else could you handle, Kate? Are we talking dinner and dancing, or something more…mellow?" He waggled an eyebrow at her and she bit her lip, shaking her head lightly.

She'd agreed to go out on a date with him. Sure, it was ostensibly to win the huge pool they both knew the 12th had bet on them, but it was more than that. She'd just agreed to…What if she'd just agreed to go on her last first date?

"Kate?"

"Hmm?" she responded, blinking a few times. That was both a terrifying and exhilarating thought. And when, exactly, had she given herself permission to admit to _that_?

"Dancing or something else?" he prompted with a small grin, as though he knew exactly what she was thinking.

"Um, isn't that your job, Castle? You're supposed to sweep the girl off her feet, right? First date, and all that." Seriously, shut up, Kate.

His eyes widened even more and she felt him let out an unsteady breath. When had the music changed? It was slow and he was pulling her in, the other couples on the floor already locked in tight, amorous embraces. "First date?" he asked softly, his nose inches from hers.

And there, beneath the bravado, was the man she'd been pushing away while keeping close for eight months. The man she'd hurt. The man she'd relied on. The man—the only man—she'd ever tried to knock down the wall for, the only one who was worth it.

The wall was still there, what was left of it, at least. It looked more like rubble with a few remaining patches left standing—Roman Ruins of her defenses crumbling with time and persistence from the elements. "Unless you consider that date after the smuggling case our first date, then yeah," she offered easily with a small shrug of her shoulder.

He smiled, his eyes crinkling, cheeks straining, looking so happy and elated that it nearly broke her heart. What had she been doing to this man? "We're definitely calling this our first date," he told her before his lips met her nose, lightning fast—so fast that she couldn't even be sure he'd done it. "Mutual sloppy seconds are not what you build a…" he trailed off and schooled his features.

If they'd been playing poker, he'd have just lost the pool. But they weren't, and he wanted to build a future with her. A future. A mutual future. Another section of the wall fell down. He could probably step over the two feet that were left, but he stayed on the other side, waiting for her go ahead.

She let out a small breath, realizing that she'd been holding it in. This was big. This was…life changing. Two feet or not, the damn wall was still there, and the case wasn't closed, and she wasn't whole yet. But his eyes were sparkling and he looked so anxious, so wanting, so ready. It was just a date. They could take it slow, right?

She wasn't all there, but she was so ready. She wanted this—wanted him. She had for a long time, longer than she was willing to admit. "No," she agreed quietly. "So, first date it is, then."

His grin was back and he spun them around, laughing quietly. Her heart clenched and she pressed her face into his neck, smiling herself. But part of her hurt, mourned for the pain she'd caused him. His joy of this moment was too much, too large. He'd been waiting for a long time. And she knew, even with this, he'd have to keep waiting; they could start, but that finish line, and everything in between, was still far off.

"Dinner and a movie?" he suggested after a few minutes of quiet, comfortable dancing, in which she avoided Lanie's eyes over his shoulder and focused on the feeling of him breathing in and out below her cheek.

"That's sweeping me off my feet?" she replied, pulling back to meet his eyes and falling back on what they were best at: teasing.

He rolled his eyes in a role reversal that had her biting her cheek to keep from laughing. "What, the first date isn't enough?"

She blushed, feeling the flush rise up her neck and into her cheeks. There was no hiding that, and he smirked. "I don't know, Castle," Kate mumbled, trying to find her footing again, trying to keep the game going. "Depends on the movie."

He nodded solemnly, like she'd just handed him something very important. But the little sparkle behind his eye betrayed him, as did his next comment. "Rom-coms win me points while flesh-eating zombie apocalypse means the couch for two months?"

The problem with playing the game was that she was so in tune with it that she often stopped really thinking about her responses. "Would be the other way around, and two months? That's awfully harsh."

Anyone watching would have laughed at the way they both stopped moving to stare at each other, completely surprised. "Uh," he stammered for a moment, working his jaw. "That's…that's good to know."

"Yeah," she breathed, watching as his eyes moved from her mouth to her eyes, and then upwards, cataloging his gathered information the way he sometimes did at crime scenes, remembering. "But somewhere in between is probably good."

He smiled and brought his eyes back to meet hers. "Movie theatre, my place, your place, or am I not allowed to ask?"

She laughed. There actually was something comfortable about the idea of having it at her place. But, then again, hers or his, how would they ever take it slow? She felt like she should say 'out,' but she honestly didn't want to. She also didn't want to push the throttle too far forward.

"How about dinner out, and we play it by ear?" she suggested, finding something in the middle. He'd have time to plan a huge date with the nine yards and whole shebang later. But maybe for this 'first' one, they could do it together, with a little less pomp.

"Sounds like a plan," he grinned. She smiled back and they danced quietly for a few minutes, no doubt doing that 'eye sex' thing Lanie had mentioned. But there was just something about the wedding. It was magical—if Kate _had_ to give it an adjective—and seemed to strip away all those things that got between them on a daily basis. "Hey, Kate," he murmured as he pulled her back to his body, his head pressed against her cheek.

"Hmm?" she purred—that was the only way to describe it. She was obscenely comfortable.

"Just so we're clear, when I wake up in the morning, this happened, right? I asked, you said yes, and sometime in the relatively near future, we're going on a date?"

She blinked a few times and felt his fingers twitching around hers where their hands were clasped and resting on his chest. He sounded calm but his voice lacked any of his usual jovial lilt. This was serious Rick Castle, and Kate squeezed his hand. She owed him so much more than this, but it was all she had at the moment. "Yes, Castle. Barring a body, we can even make it this Friday, if you like."

Four days away. That was four days away. "Really?" Ah, there was the excited Castle she knew and…she knew and…loved. The word was loved, Kate.

"If you make me say it again, I might rescind the offer," she threatened, though even she could hear the lack of conviction behind it. Why hadn't she said Wednesday, or Tuesday, or hell, tomorrow would work just fine.

"Duly noted," he chuckled. "So Friday, huh." He spun them in a gentle circle and Kate was struck by the fact that she'd let him lead all night. Yes, it was traditional, but she'd had more than a few beaux with whom she'd been the leading partner. But Castle didn't need to be led, well, no more than usual. And here—he owned this domain with sure steps and solid body. "And before then, things as usual?"

"You mean bodies and forensics and the job?" Kate sighed, feeling weightless and the smallest bit giddy.

"Well, duh." He ran his fingers over her back and she melted a little more. Damn. If his hands could do _that_… "But I was thinking more after work. Say we go to Remy's, or you come over, or we're looking over evidence over Chinese food…"

He trailed off and she lifted her head from where it had fallen onto his shoulder. She met his eyes a bit shyly, not quite sure _what_ he was asking, but pretty together with him in the uncertainty. "Until then we're…Partners," she offered with a small shrug.

He beamed at her. "I can work with that."

Kate merely smiled and allowed herself the moment, the evening, the promise of Friday and other nights to come. She wasn't quite sure what she'd agreed to—a date, more, the future, a lifetime—but it was a step toward what they deserved. And no, the wall wasn't completely demolished, but she'd decided to be more than her mother's case, and this, him, they were that more.

She caught Lanie's eye over Castle's shoulder as he pulled her back in, his lips warm at her temple. She wondered idly if it would be painful to keep her distance tomorrow at work. Lanie grinned and raised an eyebrow. Kate simply gave her a small smile and a slight shake of her head. Her friend laughed and returned her attention to Javier, who was gazing at her with such affection that Kate almost felt voyeuristic.

"What?" Castle mumbled, having felt her against his shoulder.

"Nothing," Kate told him, her fingers finding their way back to the nape of his neck. "Everyone's happy."

There was that warm pressure against her forehead again and then she felt him as he smiled against the crown of her head, his breath falling warm over her face. "Kevin and Jenny look about ready to skip out," he said softly, turning them so Kate could get a good look at the newlyweds who were seated at the main table, Kevin trailing kisses up and down Jenny's neck and jaw.

"Don't blame them," she laughed quietly. "I think I'd be itching to leave too."

"Me too," he agreed, his thumb brushing small circles at the small of her back. "Would you want to stay the night in the city, or hop right on a plane, watch the sunrise out of a beach-side window?"

Kate hummed. _That_ was a pleasing visual. And, interestingly enough, whose well-tailored tux was draped over the back of the chair with her wedding gown? Right, she was now imagining watching the sunrise with Richard Castle, cuddled together in a large bed, naked. And somehow, she didn't think they'd have been sleeping at all. "Sounds lovely," she replied after a moment, rather glad that he couldn't see her personal vision. "But tiring. Might be nice to stay in the city and travel when we felt a little more rested, you know?"

"I can see that," he whispered. "Penthouse or home?"

She lifted a shoulder lazily. "Big bed's a bed, right?" They were being careful, treading that delicate line with deft accuracy, but Kate had no illusions. They were talking about themselves, albeit extremely hypothetically. And if she was going to spend her wedding night with Richard Castle, she could care less about the _where_ of it.

He laughed, the sound rumbling richly beneath her ear. "I love that answer."

"You would," she smiled, her lips dangerously close to his throat. "And you? Where would you want to wake up?"

"Bed's a bed, right?" he repeated, his voice happy and relaxed. "It's the 'with whom' that's the important part."

She bit her lip. She wouldn't ask. She _couldn__'__t_ ask. But they were sharing the same vision; she knew that much. Right now, though, the date would be enough. And maybe someday, a long time from now, they would be the couple quietly bending down to whisper in his mother's ear while she hugged her father goodbye. And they would be giggling together as they ran out of the back entrance to the hall, hands straying to places they really shouldn't be in such company.

"You know, you'd be a very beautiful bride," Castle said softly, bringing her out of her fantasy.

"Oh?" she managed. Of all things, that wasn't what she'd expected. It was dangerous territory, yes, but infinitely safer than versions of a honeymoon yet to come. _If_ ever to come, she reminded herself.

"Drop dead gorgeous, I'm sure," he continued, swaying with her, his voice low against her ear as she raised her head so that they were cheek-to-cheek again. "Your Dad's going to blubber like a baby."

Kate nodded lightly against his skin. "For more than one reason, I'm sure," she whispered. For loss of her mother, for certain, as well as the pain and joy of giving Kate away. But tonight, with Castle wrapped around her, that well of sadness didn't touch her.

"True," he murmured, sounding a bit regretful for the small amount of melancholy in her voice now. "My mother too, if it's any consolation."

Oh, damn. Well, no illusions about it now. He was right there with her. This was their wedding they were discussing so carelessly. Carelessly wasn't fair though; nothing about _this_ conversation was careless. "Wanna bet on Kevin or Javi?" Where was the wall? Where was her sense? Where was a ring and a minister?

"Oh, Javier, definitely," he laughed. "Did you see him when Kevin was saying his vows? Total waterworks."

Kate giggled and then sucked in a breath as his lips met her cheek. "Yeah, Lanie too."

He smiled, his face still turned to hers. "Oh, Lanie, Alexis, even Gates might shed a tear, you know."

She found her footing again at that. "No way. No way Iron Gates would cry at my wedding."

"Hey, just because she doesn't love me doesn't mean she can't appreciate the beauty of marriage," he protested, spinning them around again. "And she's not _that_ bad. I swear, she smiled at you a few times last week."

Kate shook her head lightly, accidentally brushing the corner of her mouth against his. And of course, she stilled in shock. But the moment was gone in an instant, as he released her to twirl her under his arm in an evasive maneuver that even she had to call smooth. It seemed he too had limits. That was touching and disheartening all at once.

He pulled her back in and they stared at each other, a little lost, a little hesitant, and completely smitten. She just hoped she wasn't making a mistake. "But, there's lots of time between this wedding and whenever that one occurs," he proclaimed with a sly grin that she matched. Détente. "So, Kate, care to show me some of those salsa moves you were bragging about with Lanie? You seemed pretty confident. That good, are you?"

Kate smirked and leaned close to kiss his cheek, moving up to find his ear. "Oh, Castle. You have no idea," she purred and then shifted back. The delighted grin he shot her sent a jolt down her spine. Whatever Friday became was bound to be something. And as she caught sight of Lanie and Javier sneaking out the back door as well, she allowed herself the moment to think that what they were starting just might be the last something she'd ever start.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: Partners**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Castle, just my over active imagination.**

**Summary: Walls fall down; that's the nature of the beast. And no matter how Kate looks at it, she's staring at piles of rubble. And from rubble, where do they go next? Slight spoilers for 4x11 and beyond. **

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><p><strong>Chapter 2:<strong>

"You're going out this Friday?" Dr. Burke asked, raising an eyebrow as he sat with one leg crossed over the other, his hands folded in his lap.

Kate fiddled with the seam on the arm of the comfortable, worn leather chair. Her eyes followed the patterns of light that danced across the floor from the gently shifting blinds over the windows. It was always very calming, Monday mornings in this office. But it was also abrupt and harsh to start the week with a therapy appointment, and somehow, this morning, she felt a little bit like a teenager explaining a date to her father.

"Yes," she said, daringly lifting her head to meet his eyes. He wasn't a disapproving adult, and she wasn't seventeen. It was up to her to make these kinds of decisions, especially about her own love life.

He nodded thoughtfully, and she wondered whether she was imagining the small smile at the corner of his mouth. He was tough to read most days. "That's…good, Kate."

"Thank you," she mumbled, fighting the urge to bite her lip.

"And you're comfortable with this? What about…"

"The wall?" she finished for him, letting the words out with a small self-deprecating laugh. "I don't know when he did it, but that man has a wrecking ball the size of his loft."

He laughed. She didn't know if she'd ever seen him laugh before. "Does he, now? And tell me, between the last time we discussed this two weeks ago and today, what, exactly, has allowed Mr. Castle to use said wrecking ball?"

Kate shook her head lightly. He was teasing her! Could he feel the weight that had lifted from her chest the night before, when Castle had kissed her hand and put her in a cab home? Could he see the petulant frown she'd worn all the way to her apartment because Castle _hadn__'__t_ insisted on walking her to her door?

"I don't…know," she offered quietly.

"Kate," he prompted.

"Fine," she huffed. Well damn, she sounded like a petulant teenager too. What _had_ Castle done with that wrecking ball? "Things have just been…easier since the tiger." Honestly, how many people could say that sentence and actually mean it? "We've just been closer and I," she stopped for a moment, trying to sort out her feelings.

"Do you feel ready for a full relationship, Kate? Are you prepared to tell him you remember?"

"Not yet," tumbled from her mouth before she could stop it. That probably meant it was true—more true than any kind of justification she could give it.

"And yet you're going out with him?"

Kate met Dr. Burke's eyes again. "He's waited," she said quietly. "And it's not that I feel like I owe him now, but I want…I want more and if I want it, I should go for it, right?"

He considered her. "But you can't tell him that you know he loves you?"

"I can," she hedged. "I just need…time. But I don't want that to be time wasted. We've wasted a lot of time already."

He was silent and Kate fidgeted in her seat. She was happy about this decision and she wanted to stay that way. Slowly—they would go slowly, and someday, they could get there. And would it be so wrong to hold hands along the way, without needing tigers or other bizarre calamities to do so? Kate had always prized herself on her ability to deny her needs, but she was cracking, and he was right there, waiting to fill in the cracks with his own mortar—to build a different wall, together, with them on one side and the world on the other.

"I think it's great improvement that you're feeling ready to date, Kate," Dr. Burke finally offered. "But I worry that withholding this from him, once you are in a relationship, may cause more harm than good."

Kate let out a troubled breath. "You think I should keep waiting?"

He shook his head. "No. You're moving forward, and that's what we want. I think that you might want to reconsider your need to wait for _this_ in particular. Put yourself in his shoes; if he'd kept this from you, and then thrown himself full freight into a relationship without telling you, would you forgive him?"

Kate opened her mouth a few times before clamping it shut. Would she? Would he? What wouldn't she forgive him, though? He'd dug through her mother's case, and she'd taken him back. He'd left her, and she'd taken him back. Would she be level-headed enough, in his place, to understand her reasons, were they his? "I…"

"I don't need an answer," Dr. Burke stopped her. "And we're almost out of time. Just think on it, and let me know what happens," he paused and gave her a smile. "Well, within limits."

Kate laughed, surprised. "Right," she managed. She might not sleep tonight, but it could be worth it, just to see her therapist looking so relaxed. He hadn't looked that way since the Sniper; he'd tried, but there was always tension, worry. And secrets or no, date or none, if he was relaxing, she was moving ahead. "Thank you."

"You're more than welcome," he said easily, standing as she did and following her to the door to hold it open as she donned her coat. "Have a good time."

She smiled. "I'll do my best."

He laughed. "Good. I'll see you next week."

"Have a good day, Dr. Burke," she offered as he ushered her out. The door closed behind her and Kate let out a long breath. So, the date was a good thing, but she had to seriously consider telling Castle that she'd heard him. How the hell was she supposed to do that, really?

She nodded to the secretary on her way out and stuffed her hands in her pockets as she waited for the elevator, leaning back against the wall. She had about forty minutes before she was due at the station, and it was only a five block walk on a gloriously sunny, unseasonably warm day. The entire winter had been odd, a mix of snow and rain, sun and chill. It sometimes felt like the weather was trying to keep up with her—with the emotions that bounced everywhere and kept her on an eternal roller coaster. But maybe she was finding a way to pull the brakes, control the speed, harness the nervous energy into progress.

She shook her head as she stepped out of the elevator and made her way across the marble floor of the tall office building. Her heels left a satisfying ring around the large space and she smiled at the guard by the door, who always looked amused by her presence, for what she wasn't quite sure. But he was cheerful, and she felt light today, easy, comfortable, even as the words 'tell him the truth' churned at the back of her mind.

She walked along the deserted sidewalk, in the odd lull between 8:30 and 9:00am, when everyone was either at work or in transit, leaving the streets quieter, at least in their area. Heaven help you if you needed to get anywhere in Times Square at this hour. She lifted her eyes from the ground and immediately glommed onto the Starbucks sign. She could use her morning dose, and there wasn't a case, so Castle probably wouldn't be in until later in the morning.

The handle wasn't frozen as she pulled the door open, and the warm air inside relaxed her slightly tense muscles as she stepped into the queue and let the door fall shut behind her. The café was crowded but not yet frantic and she took a moment to remember when the last time she'd gotten her own coffee had been. A week? Maybe two, now that she thought on it. They'd had back to back cases and Castle was always waiting at the station for her, or by his building, or at the scene, coffee in hand with a crazy theory bursting from his lips.

The line moved relatively quickly as she ruminated on her shadow-partner and his ability to anticipate her needs. Come to think of it, he'd been feeding her more lately, and at odd times, like he'd started mapping her snacking habits. Of course he'd started mapping her snacking habits. It was an incredibly Castle thing to do.

"Miss?" the barista prompted, giving her a tired look.

Kate snapped her head up to meet the eyes of the exhausted twenty-something behind the counter. "Grande skim latte, two pumps sugar-free vanilla, and a grande peppermint mocha," she rattled off rather absently, pulling a few bills out of her pocket to pay.

She gave her name, resisting the urge to say "Nikki" instead of Kate, and wandered over to the serving counter. Castle had asked her if she ever used another name about a week earlier, and ever since, she'd been so tempted to try it. She _could_ be more creative about it; Nikki was a little tacky. But there was something to the idea. However, as it would prove his point and he'd know—he just would—she couldn't quite bear to do it. Maybe sometime when she was with him she'd pull it out, a trick for a rainy day. Some day when he needed a smile she'd have that little bit of magic for him.

Honestly, when had she gotten to the point of planning cheer-up-Castle gestures of affection? Probably around the time the words "I love you," accompanied her thoughts of "doofus," "man-child," "ridiculous." Differentiating had become difficult, and denying them the chance of _something_ had become too much.

She sighed quietly, the thought bringing her back to her 'assignment' from Dr. Burke. Would she end up hurting him? Was there a way to tell him she'd heard him without causing pain? Eight months was a long time. It was a seriously, almost tragically long time. She'd be pissed. But he wouldn't walk away, right?

Her smile drooped a bit as she waited. She had the week, and longer, really. They wouldn't be jumping into the sack and exchanging keys and drawers on Saturday morning. They could take it slow. Her phone chimed before she had to force her mind to relinquish the vision of them cuddled in her bed (because really, no matter how much she denied it, she'd been having _those_ fantasies for years). She fished it out of her pocket and slid the lock, revealing Castle's laughing face, head tipped back in his chair beside her desk. She had to remember not to let him see her phone before she got around to changing it.

_Tell __me __there__'__s __a __body. __Mother__ is__ giving __lessons __here __because__ pipes__ sprang __a __leak.__ HELP __ME!_

Kate chuckled and flipped her phone over for the bigger keypad.

_There__'__s__ always__ paperwork, __Partner._

She smirked as she hit send and then pocketed her phone just as the second barista called her name. He passed her two drinks and she stared at them, a little perplexed. Right, she'd gotten Castle a coffee because…because it seemed wrong to order just one, didn't it? Huh.

Shrugging, she grabbed a holder and planted the two cups in it before turning and winding her way back out to the street. Maybe the day wouldn't be so boring, not if Castle was there to annoy her while she tried to make it through the gargantuan pile of paperwork she had waiting for her on her desk. She hadn't gotten as much done before the wedding as she'd been planning to, and today she got to reap the benefits, provided that another body didn't drop.

She nodded to the security officer as she entered the 12th and stepped into the elevator, unbuttoning her coat as she leaned against the back wall. If Castle wasn't there, she'd be able to pawn the coffee off on Ryan; but then Esposito would whine. Wait, no, Ryan was on his honeymoon. Maybe Gates liked peppermint mochas? Kate snorted. That would be hysterical.

But, as the elevator doors opened, it seemed that she didn't need to figure out if her boss liked holiday drinks after all. For there, sitting in her chair, head bowed over her files, was the strong figure of Richard Castle. Kate bit back a smile and walked over to her desk, leaning around his body to place the mocha in front of him as she bent down to let her breath pass over his ear. Her boldness rather surprised her. Playing with fire much?

"What have I said about sitting in my chair?" she whispered, grinning as he stiffened in shock.

"Uh…"

She stepped back with a smirk and tossed the coffee holder into the trash as she took a large sip of her latte. He swiveled around to face her after a short moment, coffee brought to his lips and an eyebrow arched in her direction.

"How'd you beat me here?" she asked before he could make a big deal of the coffee. She rarely got him any, but she owed him, didn't she—something about a hundred coffees?

He simply smiled before taking a long swig of his mocha. "You have a _lot_ of paperwork," he offered in place of answering her question.

"Yes. And I need to be in my chair to do it," she said, deciding that she'd give him his 'air of mystery' this morning, even just to see that little sparkle of mischief in his eyes. Man, she was pathetic today. "You better not have changed the settings," she added as he stood and swept an arm toward the chair with a grin.

"Never. Me? Why would you think that?" he laughed, plopping down in his own seat as she draped her jacket on the back of the rolling chair and settled down into it, pleased to note that he had not, in fact, tampered with her chair. "Thank you for the coffee."

Kate raised a shoulder in response and allowed half a smile to settle on her face. He grinned into his coffee and she considered the idea of checking the whole morning off as a success. Oh, but her world was small sometimes, and entirely too focused on the man now playing angry birds on his phone.

"Are you actually going to sit here all day and play games on your phone?" she asked fifteen minutes later, when his glances and little pouts finally ate away at her defenses. Used to take him a lot longer, didn't it?

"You really think I can help you with paperwork? Gates would kick both our asses," he replied casually, his eyes still trained on his phone. "But I'm happy to be here as your eye candy."

"Eye candy," she repeated, fighting a little scowl. Of course he was right. There was no way they'd ever hear the end of it if Gates found him filling out paperwork.

"Just something pretty for you to look at when you need a pick-me-up," he said lazily.

Oh, no way. She was not going to lose to 'eye candy.' He _did_ look rather handsome in the deep navy suit jacket he wore over a purple button down. He'd lost some weight since the start of the fall, and his cheek was ever-so-slightly stubbled today, as though he hadn't had the energy to shave after the party last night. Well damn. He was right. He was eye candy. But that wouldn't do.

After a few minutes of silent contemplation, she reached over and plucked his phone from his hands. The little birds teetered and one by one, she shot them over the obstacles to a direct hit. She'd never tell him that she'd taken to playing the damn game on _her_ phone when she was waiting for therapy appointments. Regardless of how she'd garnered the prowess, she did manage to get him a high score.

He watched her with interest as she placed the phone on the other end of the desk, far away from his searching fingers. Then, she thrust a packet of papers at him.

"What's this?" he asked, flipping through them.

"Read that and tell me what I need to sign," she ordered, observing him out of the corner of her eye as he looked from the papers to her and back.

"Really?" It wasn't quite excitement, but there was something in his voice; something that sounded suspiciously like gratitude. Why was he… "You're trusting me with this?"

Oh, well. "I trust you to have my back, Castle. You're an author. I think it goes without saying that I trust you with words."

She looked over at him and found him sitting stock still, staring at her. She replayed her statement in her mind and found it neither lacking, nor too revealing. He was looking at her, though, like she'd handed him something precious. Trust? He'd earned that a long time ago. Trust with her life. Trust with a great part of her sanity. Trust with the dangers of her job, however grudgingly given. It was trust with her heart that she had to work on. He'd trusted her with his. The least she could give him was paperwork.

"I thought you were a speed reader," she added quietly, snapping him out of the deep thoughts where he'd fallen, plummeted, by the looks of it.

It didn't take much. His grin returned and she shook her head, turning back to her desk to busy herself with another report while he flew through the pages. She trusted him to make sure she got everything nailed down. And it was an added benefit that he was there with her all day to do it.

When he ordered enough Chinese food to feed half of the departments in the building, she was amused. When they finished her paperwork before two, she was impressed. When he then helped Esposito with his and Ryan's paperwork, she was touched. But mostly, she was grateful—grateful for the man who made her friends laugh when they all wanted to beat their heads against a wall. Grateful for the man who sat patiently, reading to her as she jotted down information, and looked, for all the world, like she'd taken him to the most interesting play. Grateful for the man who refilled her coffee and joked her out of melancholy over the twin boys left behind by their murdered mother and murdering father. Grateful. Grateful. Grateful. What did she give back?

"Beckett?"

Kate snapped her head up to find Castle standing by his chair, jacket in hand. "Heading out?" she asked rather dumbly. He'd caught her thinking about him, though he didn't know it.

"Nothing left to do, is there?"

She shook her head and began gathering her things. She should get the hell out too, before a body dropped and they were stuck there. Not that leaving would stop a body from dropping, but somehow it made it feel like it might. He was there in a flash, holding her jacket for her while Esposito watched them across the pen. She didn't spare the Detective a glance and gracefully slid her arms into her jacket, stilling only slightly as Castle flipped her hair out from underneath her collar.

"Thank you, Castle," she managed as she slung her purse over her shoulder. He merely smiled and gestured for her to precede him to the elevator—letting her lead. She made a mental note to make sure he stepped out of the elevator first this time. "Family dinner?" she asked, watching him press the button.

He turned his face and met her eyes with a soft smile. "Maybe. Mother's taking her class out for dinner, but Alexis might show. Otherwise, just me, the wind, and my imaginary dog, Fido."

"Fido."

"Not clever enough?" he pouted.

"Not nearly," she laughed, shaking her head.

"Care to eat dinner with me and help me come up with something pretentiously snooty?"

She blinked. Dinner. Right. Dinner, wrapped up in a convoluted wordplay about his imaginary dog. Life with Richard Castle was nothing if not interesting. Life with Richard Castle? Answer the question, Kate. "Yes." Was that the right answer? "I mean, yes, that would be lovely, Castle, thank you."

He smiled. "Would it be lovely because you can't stand to leave my company, or because you don't have anything in that take-out temple you call a refrigerator?"

Kate narrowed her eyes at him just as the elevator dinged and they reached the bottom floor. The doors opened, but neither moved. She just continued staring him down. Annoyingly (read, endearingly), he didn't seem to know what to do, now that the doors were open and she wasn't moving. After a moment—a long, rather ridiculous moment—he stepped out and took a few purposeful strides before spinning around to watch her calmly leave the elevator.

"I…"

"You should call him Petruchio," she offered as she passed him and made her way toward her car, listening as he stumbled to traipse after her. He was so easy sometimes, and for the first time in a while, she felt like she could maybe let loose a little bit. He'd stayed with her to do paperwork all day, and she'd let him hold her jacket—let him flip her hair. She'd let him in, because she wanted to. And if wanting to let him in allowed them this kind of teasing again, well, there was little she wouldn't do to reclaim the constant ease of their relationship, if such a thing had ever truly existed. She _missed_ that, now that she was far enough from the darkness to see the light.

"And why's that? What has my fictional dog to do with Shakespeare?" he asked, meeting her at the car, he on the passenger side and she on the driver's side.

"Well, Petruchio tamed Katherine," she said blithely, enjoying the way his eyes nearly fell out of his head. There was no reason that giving back couldn't be fun. "But you know, I bet she still drove."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: So, this is kind of a day in the mind of Kate. I've personally really enjoyed the moments of teasing this season, and I thought, since they're gearing up to go on a date, it would be fun to see that side of their relationship, since we only get Castle's almost-whiplash on the show. <strong>

**There's definitely much more to come in this story, but this is the part that managed to get out while I was studying (read, four programming exercises earned me two pages of text until I finished the web design chapter). **


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: Partners**

**Disclaimer: The Castle writers have been on hiatus for longer than I've been home from college. **

**Summary: Walls fall down; that's the nature of the beast. And no matter how Kate looks at it, she's staring at piles of rubble. And from rubble, where do they go next? Slight spoilers for 4x11 and beyond. **

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3:<strong>

His smile lasted the entire drive back to his loft. She snuck glances at him as she drove straight through traffic, trying to be subtle. He grinned at her unabashedly when their eyes met and kept his face tilted toward her, head resting back against his headrest, his body relaxed of tension, watching her.

It didn't even faze her anymore. "What's for dinner?" she asked, curious, as they pulled up to the curb outside his building, having spent the ride in comfortable, teasing silence.

He let out a little sigh, apparently at the prospect of getting out of the car. "Don't know. What do you feel like? We've got fixings for everything."

Kate considered this, now leaning back against her own headrest. "Anything?" she repeated, watching as he nodded, a little spark passing across his eyes. "Hmm."

"Pasta? Homemade pizza? Chicken? I make a mean stir fry. Oh, or we could do tacos. We do the best taco nights."

Kate laughed at the obvious joy in his voice, as if making dinner for her was the best part of the day. Granted, with the look he was giving her, somewhere between excited and affectionate, she realized she may not be that far off. The spark of pleasure that shot down her spine at the thought made her shake her head, at him, at her, at the obvious attraction and mutual respect that flowed between them—respect she was forcing back. Soon. Friday wasn't _that _far away.

"So?" he prompted, catching her in the act of thinking too much for a stupid simple dinner at his house. They'd done it before. It had become a fairly regular occurrence since the bank heist. She and Alexis had even started talking again, not much, but a few texts here and there and light conversation over dessert while Castle insisted on doing the dishes.

"Isn't taco night your thing with Alexis?" she wondered aloud as she unbuckled and gestured for him to do the same. She didn't wait for an answer before getting out of the car and walking around to his side.

He met her at the curb and gave her a small shrug. "Sometimes. She's been busy recently. Lots of parties and gatherings."

"Senior year," Kate nodded as they began walking into his building. His hand fell to the small of her back and she bit down a small smile, as well as the practiced urge to shy away from the touch. No moving backward, only forward. And apparently, forward included casual touches that shouldn't make her as on edge with butterflies as they did.

"At least she's not flying across the country to Stanford," he said quietly as they stepped into the elevator. She turned her head to look at him and he gave her a small, sad smile. "Makes me a bit of a horrible person, but I'm almost glad, you know?"

She nodded. "Doesn't make you bad. My father wasn't happy that I ended up out there either." Oh, the yelling and fighting she'd done to get them to let her go, only to wind up back in the city, taking care of the man who'd only wanted to protect her. Didn't matter. She got hurt anyway, and so did he. It just had nothing to do with college or flights or the dangers of being too far away from her Daddy.

"I'm secretly hoping she gets in and picks Columbia," he told her, leaning closer, like it was some kind of revelation.

"Of course you are," she smiled. "Then you can bother her all the time," she added, going for levity, because though he smiled, his eyes were duller at the prospect of his little girl leaving the nest at all.

"Hey," he protested, guiding her out of the elevator as they reached his floor. "I am the cool dad. I do not 'bother,' I inject levity full of love."

"Oh, man, Castle," Kate laughed, waiting as he fished his keys out of his pocket. "That's the most flowery load of crap I've heard in a while."

He sent her a glare. "I invite you over for food and this is how you repay me?"

"I didn't realize there was paying to be done," she countered, gesturing for him to step inside before her.

"I'm on to you," he grumbled, shaking his head and forcing her gently through the door before him. "The least you could do is pretend that my coddling is adorable instead of stifling."

It was, actually. Hearing him talk about his daughter was adorable, and sweet, and oddly sexy, in a way that Kate couldn't quite figure out. She startled as she felt his hands come up to her shoulders, tugging at her coat. Putting it on was one thing, taking it off was quite another. Though, the feeling of his fingers sliding down her arms wasn't unpleasant, and the small, calm smile he wore as he put the coats into the closet was…adorable. Damn. She needed a different word.

"Well?" he prompted after he'd arranged the coats and closed the closet door.

"I'm not going to call you adorable," she offered, going for glib. At his smile, she figured she'd failed somehow.

"Well, what do you want for dinner?" he corrected. "But nice to know, all the same, Detective," he grinned as he ushered her toward the island in the kitchen.

The loft was still bedecked with strands of twinkle lights that shined merrily around the tops of the cabinets. She caught sight of the Christmas tree, still going strong over by the far window in the living room, and she smiled. It was warm here—full of life and love and a distinct sense of family. Her apartment was clean and comfortable, but this…this was a _home_.

"We just haven't felt like getting rid of the holiday spirit." he said, leaning against the side of the island with his hip, watching her watch the way the lights shimmered against the needles of the tree.

"Yeah," she murmured. "It's nice."

"It's her last Christmas season, you know? He continued, looking around at the cheery space.

"She'll come home for Christmas. How could you pass this up?" Kate said easily, elbowing him lightly in the ribs as she gestured to the apartment. "Anyway, she's going to college, not Nam."

"You never know," Castle shrugged, giving her a false smile. "Christmas in Maui? Skiing in Vail?"

"Without you?"

He glanced over at her. "Would you have turned down skiing in the Alps with a hot guy for Christmas with your…"

He stopped abruptly as Kate sucked in a breath. At 19? She may have considered it, but she never got the chance to find out. Her first Christmas home from college was the last Christmas she spent at home for a good six years. Even now, she met her father somewhere outside of the apartment he'd never shared with her or her mother. She knew Castle didn't mean anything by it. It was fair that he didn't walk around constantly aware, the way she did—didn't flinch internally at every 'your mom' joke that flew across the bullpen.

"Kate," he murmured.

She shook her head. She didn't want to ruin the good day they'd had for a careless comment she knew he'd feel guilty for without her help. And she'd had a good Christmas this year. It was fine.

"She'll come home. The first year away is the hardest, even if she's just across the island."

He nodded slowly, his face still tense with regret for his off-handed comment. "I guess."

"Don't sweat it, Castle. Alexis? She's a total Daddy's girl." She got a small, real grin for that one. "Now, are you planning on feeding me or should I be digging through my contacts for Chinese?"

Castle snapped to attention and scurried around the island to the refrigerator, pulling out a rather random assortment of items: boneless chicken breasts, carrots, eggs, a lemon, garlic, and a container of rice noodles. Looked like stir fry was the dish of choice for the evening.

"Do you want some wine?" he offered, turning around as he grabbed a cutting board.

Kate shook her head. She was already tired, and wine would just accelerate the process. Truth be told, she hadn't gotten that much sleep the previous night. Her stupid, girly stomach had kept her up with butterflies and her giddy, love-sick brain had showed her too many happy pictures. And, like the fool she was, she'd refused sleep in lieu of seeing all of those pictures. Then she'd woken up, gone to therapy, and done a full day of paperwork.

He shrugged and went about washing the vegetables and chicken. She tried but failed to keep her eyes from his back as he worked, muscles moving beneath his purple button-down. She couldn't remember the last guy she'd been with and felt this smitten. Josh was handsome, yes, but that had been all lust that softened into affection. They'd met when she needed a distraction, and she'd been more than happy to let herself fall into him. But Castle was different. Yes, she had moments of lust for the man. That was nothing new. But watching him cook with what must be a besotted smile was new for her. Enjoying the way he played with his phone, the way he handed her coffee, the little spark of glee in his eye whenever he saw fit to posit another ridiculous theory, was new for Kate.

That date on Friday was starting to seem a little silly. And the wall she had talked about was starting to feel very much not there. But the secret was—the lie. Right. She had to think about that, and here, with him making her dinner and being so…him, that was difficult. What a mess. She sighed quietly and folded her arms onto the counter, leaning forward slightly, slumping.

"You okay?"

She raised her head and met his eyes as he returned to the island to begin chopping up his ingredients, dumping the products into a few bowls of sauce she hadn't noticed he'd collected. "Yeah," she said, giving him a light smile. "Can I be helpful?"

He arched an eyebrow. "I offered you wine. I thought the 'sit there and relax' message had been adequately sent."

"I could drink wine and help," she shot back, fighting a smile. "But if that's your attitude…"

"Just sit there and look pretty," he ordered with a wave of his knife.

"Don't point that weapon at me, Castle." Huh. No, that hadn't been what she'd really meant to say, had it?

The answering spark in his eyes made her roll hers. "I'll be nice about this one."

"Infinitely grateful," she sighed good-naturedly. That was mature of him. Go figure. "And I could be helpful. I do know how to cook. I've cooked for you before."

With a long suffering sigh, Castle put the knife down and walked around the counter to stand behind Kate. She kept her face resolutely turned toward the sink, ignoring him until he was pressed up behind her in a rather good imitation of her own move that morning. His hands fell to her shoulders and he applied some pressure, his fingers digging gently into the soft flesh of her clavicle.

"Sit. Relax. Annoy me," he ordered, lingering for a moment before stepping back.

Kate let out a slow breath and waited until he'd returned to the counter before shifting. It was absolutely unacceptable that that small touch had affected her so much. The two or three steady breaths she took before opening her mouth made her want to punch him. "Fine."

"You'd think I'd asked you to do something tedious," he grumbled as he resumed chopping up ingredients. "Tell me pulling out your chair on Friday isn't going to be this much work."

Kate swallowed. So she wasn't the only one thinking about their date. "I thought you enjoyed a challenge, Castle," she said, stretching her arms above her head because her shoulders were still sore from leaning over paperwork all day. She caught his eyes as they swung back to her face. About a year ago, she would have twisted his ear for it, but now it warmed her in a way she would never have expected way back when he was a playboy and she was ignoring her life.

He stared at her for a second, fighting a grin and a leer, which came across as a kind of endearing, goofy look. "I do enjoy a challenge, Kate. Why do you think I'm dating you?" He raised an eyebrow as he finished his sentence and waited.

Dating her—that meant more than one date. But, this wasn't the time to focus on that. Acknowledging it might bring up a conversation she wasn't sure she was ready to have. And she didn't know if she could give him the right answer to get rid of the little speck of doubt he hid behind that confidence. So, instead offering him anything substantial, she sent him a withering look. "You're not earning any points right now."

He chuckled and spun around to light one of the burners beneath a large pan. She watched as he poured oil into the skillet and then reached behind him to grab the chicken. His hand groped blindly a few times and Kate eventually gave in and got up to hand it to him when his fingers passed dangerously close to the knife.

"How do you not injure yourself all the time?" she wondered aloud as he gave her a small smile in thanks.

"That assumes that I don't."

Kate couldn't help but laugh a little. "So if I ask Alexis, I'll get the colorful stories?"

"There will be no extracting of embarrassing stories unless your father is here too," he said, pointing the spatula at her as he reached across to grab some of the vegetables.

"That assumes that I don't talk to either Alexis or Martha without you around," she grinned, leaning back against the counter as he pushed the food around in the pan, scowling.

After a moment, he turned around. "You're bluffing."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," he said, just as the door swung open and Alexis traipsed through, running a hand through her hair to dislodge a piece of snow. Was it snowing now? "Daughter," Castle smiled, swinging around to face her as she smiled at them and took off her coat. "Tell the good Detective that you do not tell embarrassing stories about me when I'm not around."

Alexis looked between them for a moment, assessing the situation. "Define embarrassing. Is that stir fry?"

"You've corrupted my child," he said, turning back to Kate. She bit her lip and rolled her eyes as Alexis came over to pluck a pepper out of the pan. "Hey, wait until dinner's served."

"Does he ration your food too now?" she asked by way of response. "Hi, Kate."

"Hi, Alexis. No, I can't seem to stop him from giving me food."

"Lucky," the girl sighed. "How far are we from dinner? I'm starving."

"Five minutes," Castle announced.

Kate took that as her cue to go for the dishes, while Alexis moved around them to grab glasses and pour drinks. There was a rhythm to it that she hadn't realized they'd developed over the past two months. Alexis bumped her hip as they passed each other and Kate gave her a small smile.

"Good day at school?" she asked as they made their way back to the table to take their regular seats on either side of the head chair.

Alexis shrugged. "Start of a new semester is always kind of dull."

"I remember," Kate nodded understandingly.

"Did you guys have a good day?"

Kate lifted a shoulder. "Sounds like our day was about as dull as yours. Paperwork was all we had."

"And Dad stayed the whole day?" Alexis raised an eyebrow and Kate couldn't help but laugh.

"I'm taking advantage of his coffee making abilities and speed reading." She glanced at Castle, who was flipping the contents of the pan for a final time, and then brought her gaze back to a smiling Alexis. "Do you have cooking injury stories?" she asked, suddenly eager to get some dish on her…partner while he was preoccupied. Alexis always had the best stories.

Alexis grinned and Kate noted absently that the girl seemed even more comfortable in her presence than normal, eyes bright and cheeks still slightly red from the cold outside. "Remember when Dad was cursed?" she said, glancing over at her father, who was now plating the stir fry with his usual flourish. Kate nodded. "Well, there may have been more than one finger sacrificed to making sure the curse was really broken."

Kate pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. That explained that week of band aids. She'd always wondered, but didn't want to ask. Castle appeared at the head of the table and handed them each a plate before sitting down with his own. Alexis studiously dug into her food while Kate had to wait a few moments to make sure she wouldn't laugh. It wasn't that cutting his fingers was funny, really, but more that it had happened on the tail end of the curse. And that week was still something they laughed about, when Castle wasn't around, of course.

"What did she tell you?" Castle asked, shooting his daughter a teasing glare.

Kate looked across at Alexis, who didn't look ruffled in the slightest, and then glanced back to Castle. "There may have been something about a turkey, a football game and a children's parachute," she said with a small shrug.

Alexis choked around the sip of water she'd just taken and Castle's eyes grew wide. "She told you about that?" he squeaked, swinging his eyes to his daughter, who was staring at Kate with something between indignation and awe plastered across her face.

"Seriously?" Kate exclaimed, bringing Castle's blushing face back to hers. "I need to hear that story."

"Wait, you didn't tell her?"

Alexis shook her head, still staring at Kate. "How on earth would you guess that?"

"I don't think picking random objects counts as guessing," she said. "But now I need to hear the story."

"No, no, you really don't," Castle protested. "And if you tell her, there's nothing to stop me from breaking out the baby pictures," he added to Alexis.

His daughter laughed. "That's a threat that works for boys, Dad, not Kate."

Castle sighed, but Kate caught the corning of his mouth twitching upward as he glanced back over at her. It was the first time, to her knowledge at least, that Alexis had referred to the idea of dating with a smile and a laugh. And he was sharing this moment with her—being proud with her. It almost made her want to let him off the hook for the bizarre story. Almost, but not quite.

"Story, Castle," she prompted, taking a bite of his admittedly fantastic stir fry. Why didn't she come over here to eat every night? Oh, was that a dangerous thought.

Alexis laughed and placed her cheek in her hand, staring at her father expectantly. "Well?"

Castle looked between them for a moment and then put his fork down with a petulant grunt. "For the record, the teaming up on me thing? Not a fan."

"The story," Kate repeated.

Castle narrowed his eyes but took a deep breath. "I may have, at one point in time, gotten a few friends together to play football but forgot the ball."

"This was about two days before Thanksgiving," Alexis added helpfully, smirking.

"And since it was close to Thanksgiving," he continued, glaring at his daughter. "I brought Alexis with me, and she had a small parachute, big enough for maybe four kids."

"But since there was no ball, Dad decided, for whatever reason, that a frozen turkey would be a reasonable substitute."

"You didn't," Kate sighed, already able to see that this story wasn't going to end anywhere near well. "And how does Alexis' parachute play into this stupidity?"

"Cape," he offered tightly.

"As in…"

"A superhero's cape," Alexis supplied. "I don't know if it was to impress me or one of the nannies around, but, well, let's just say that dear Dad here didn't make turkey for another few years."

"We got too well acquainted," Castle finished. "And that's the end. Good food tonight, Kate?"

Not laughing wasn't an option, and she didn't even bother to make the effort. She giggled into her water glass as Alexis cracked and began to laugh as well, until they were both snorting, watching Castle turn bright red. "Sorry, sorry," she panted once she could find her breath. The image of Richard Castle running down the field in Central Park, a child's parachute wrapped around his neck and a frozen turkey tucked under one arm was priceless. And she didn't even want to know exactly how well acquainted he'd gotten with it, or how it had happened.

"Fine," he sighed, leaning back and crossing his arms. "But know that when your Dad comes over for dinner, I'm so getting back at you. Both of you," he pouted.

"Is…is Jim coming over?" Alexis managed, looking between them as she took deep breaths.

Kate glanced at Castle, who looked a little taken aback. "Um, maybe…at some point, pumpkin," he said slowly, glancing at Kate, obviously looking for her approval.

Her father liked the Castles; apparently they'd gotten to know each other while she was in the hospital. But the look Castle was sending her was heavier than a simple invitation for dinner. Dating. Family dinners. Partners. "I'm sure he'd like that," she heard herself saying before she'd really thought it through.

Castle grinned and Kate had to take a deep breath. His smile was luminescent, but as he caught her staring at him, butterflies flipping in her stomach, he hastily took a bite of chicken. Kate swallowed and glanced at Alexis, who was watching them with interest. She caught Kate's eye and gave her a small smile before turning her attention back to her food.

What had just happened, and how had a date on Friday turned into dating with her father coming over for dinner? And when the hell had that thought become butterfly inducing instead of terrifying? Castle kept sneaking her glances as they sat and ate in silence and Kate couldn't help but smile back. Whatever had been communicated by her acceptance of their vague invitation had made him happy. And that happiness—the ease and relaxation he exuded now—was contagious. Her reservations couldn't seem to break through the warmth of his smile and the eagerness she felt to see it again and again.

She liked this, eating with his daughter and trading stories. And if they were dating, this could happen all the time, just for fun. They wouldn't need a case, or an excuse to spend time together. Why couldn't she have said Tuesday?

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: It's not a very eventful chapter, I know. And I will say that the story will pick up pace from here. But this is what they wanted to do in this chapter, and this was how I stayed sane during finals week, so I hope you enjoyed it as well. <strong>

**Have a happy holiday, everyone, and enjoy your celebrations, whatever they celebrate, and wherever they may be!**

**Emma**


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: Partners**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to this show, but if you know of any internships in the television or film industries for this summer, please, let me know. I'd love to have one of those. **

**Summary: Walls fall down; that's the nature of the beast. And no matter how Kate looks at it, she's staring at piles of rubble. And from rubble, where do they go next? Slight spoilers for 4x11 and beyond. **

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4:<strong>

By the time they reached Thursday, Kate was glad they'd waited until Friday for their date. A double homicide ate up their time, and by 3pm that afternoon, she wasn't ready to be cordial, let alone flirty, with anyone.

No lead. No suspects. No anything. And they were all feeling it. Gates was breathing down her neck like an overbearing school master, with the wit to match. Esposito swore he'd gotten her smiling earlier in the day, but for all Kate could see, Gates was made of stone. Castle's jokes weren't helping either.

"She's never going to like me, is she?" he sighed, plopping down in his chair after another ill-attempt at humor with the steely captain fell on deaf ears and condescending eyebrows.

"She's not shutting you down anymore," Kate shrugged, rubbing at her temples. "And we've got bigger problems."

"We'll find something," he said softly. Her eyes shot to his at the almost tender tone in his voice. His widened and he glanced around for a second. "You know, leads pop up," he added.

"They do," she said slowly. Perhaps she wasn't the only one feeling the strain of this stupid case. Granted, they were feeling it in different ways; it seemed like…oh. Oh, he was worried she'd back out. Was that the little flicker of doubt in his eyes? "Maybe we'll make good progress before tomorrow night," she told him.

His eyes found hers again. "We don't…it can wait, you know? I haven't put in for the pool anyway."

Right, right, the pool. Because they were really doing it to get a cut of the Precinct bet. Of course. She had to fight a smirk, because he really was transparent sometimes. "No, I think a night out with good food is exactly what we'll need tomorrow," she said slowly. She'd promised herself that she'd put one foot in front of the other.

There was already one case that held her back; she wouldn't let it become two. And judging by the smile on his face, it was the right decision. And if all she had to do to elicit such a grin was acknowledge a plan she didn't intend to break, she could easily go to dinner with him. Maybe it would stop the questions and the wondering 'is this okay?' 'What's too much?' 'Are we standing too close?'

"And tonight?"

She shrugged. "I'm sensing a long night with badly reheated food we'll go out for, but be interrupted before we can eat it."

He laughed softly. "You make that sound so appetizing, Beckett."

"What can I say, Castle. Must be your influence," she offered as she opened her email.

"My influence? I think I'm insulted. I'd hope you could spin a better story, or at least a more appealing one with all the time you've spent with me."

She shook her head as she read, a small smile spreading across her lips. They finally had a lead. The scummy boyfriend of one of their vics, who was AWOL, had just been apprehended trying to get through the tunnel. He would have gotten away but for the muffler teetering under his car, prompting a rather bored traffic officer to pull him over. Possession of two pounds of marijuana helped, and once the prints went through, they had a match for their bloody ones—a happy bit of luck.

"Did we get something?"

"Hit for the prints," Kate said as she stood and donned her jacket. "Get up, Castle. Looks like we're about to book some shlub for double homicide."

"How'd we get a hit? He wasn't in the system." He followed after her excitedly, eager for the story, as always.

However, the hand at the small of her back as they got into the elevator, the same way it had been all week, was not something he'd always done. But after that dinner, he'd taken his chances, brushing his fingers over hers as they exchanged coffees, touching the small of her back, occasionally brushing invisible lint from her knee as they stared at the murder board. She'd drawn the line when he'd tried to pull out her chair in the break room the previous day, but otherwise, she let him get away with it, which probably sent one hell of a message in it of itself.

"Caught escaping the city, charged with felony possession, and then printed. It's a lucky strike."

Castle whistled and leaned around her to press the button to the garage. "Did you tell Gates?"

Kate shot him a glare. "We're going to the 15th."

"Should probably call it in anyway," he said quietly, apologetically.

Kate groaned and pulled out her phone, feeling about five-years-old. They didn't need to tell 'Mommy' whenever they left the building, like a pair of unruly teenagers going joyriding.

"Gates."

"Captain, Castle and I are going to the 15th to pick up our suspect. Prints match the ones found on the bodies. I sent the email to you and Detectives Ryan and Esposito," Kate relayed, gritting her teeth while Castle tried and failed to look serious.

"Very good, Detective. Let me know when you return."

"Yes, Sir." She hung up and tried to control her petulant frown. She absolutely hated this.

"It's not that bad," Castle said tentatively. "I mean, if we're ever, you know, trapped at gun, or tiger, point again, it could be…useful," he trailed off as she glared at him.

Just let her have this one, okay? She didn't want to acknowledge the validity of the mandate. She just wanted to be grumpy. And for a woman who was usually able to rise above (what kinds of lies was she telling _herself_ these days?), she just wanted this one thing to stay where it was. She did not like Gates, and this was an easy place to channel that dislike.

They walked to the car in silence. She could feel him vibrating with the need to say something, whether to break the tension or regain some balance was unclear. But he was Castle, and he almost constantly needed sound. If she opened her mouth first, it would either be to bitch about Gates, or somehow hurt his feelings; it was just how she was with these things.

So she left it to him to fiddle with her radio and ramble about a video he'd found the previous night, of a yapping dog and a duck. By the time they got to the garage at the 15th, he'd perked up, grinning at her when he finally elicited an aggravated "Castle!" for changing the station just one too many times.

But there was very little bite to her voice, and she smiled to herself as they got out of the cruiser. Date tomorrow or not, increased touches or none, hesitancy or boldness, they were still them, and he was still annoying as hell. She wasn't sure why that was so comforting, but it left her at ease and game to book this scum bag and get home at a reasonable hour.

(...)

That calm sense of ease was absolutely nowhere to be found 24 hours later as Kate stared at her closet, wrapped in a towel, hair piled on top of her head. She worried a nail between her teeth and paced back and forth, considering. He'd seen her glammed up, he'd seen her beaten up, he'd seen her naked already, for what it was worth. Why was this, now, here, tonight, such a huge problem? She dressed herself daily, and she couldn't even try to pretend that she hadn't been dressing for him on her better days this past fall.

She could call Lanie, but then she'd get a heaping helping of "I told you so!" and endless questions for days. And much as she loved Lanie, she wanted this to be hers, theirs, for just a little while—whatever it was, and whatever they were doing.

She let out an irritated sigh and grabbed for a short black dress that was form-fitting and definitely a head turner, without being slutty or overly revealing. She laid it on her bed and then wandered to her delicates drawer, opening it to stare down at the plethora of options she had. Oddly enough, she hadn't been plundering this drawer recently, even just for the confidence boost of knowing she was wearing something that could bring a man to his knees beneath her turtleneck and slacks. There hadn't been a reason to go beyond the purely comfortable.

But now, was there? They weren't going to end up in bed tonight, no matter what. She let out a frustrated breath at that thought and grabbed a simple lace pair of panties and a matching brassiere. She had to tell him before they fell into bed. Dinner and dancing was one thing, but sex was a commitment. She snorted as she slipped into the undergarments. Hell, they were already committed, and she ought to be for not manning up and doing this sooner, ready or not. Because the reality, however she looked at it, couldn't be pretty. She was going to hurt him.

The thought had her sinking down onto the bed next to her dress, towel pooled on the floor by the dresser. Should she come clean tonight? She couldn't—how awkward, how horrible. There were books about that, right? _How to Lose a Man in 10 Days_ or something. He wouldn't leave her; she couldn't imagine him doing so. And she didn't know whether the thought made her happy or sad.

She shook her head, stood, and slipped into the dress, moving back to the bathroom to put on make up, shoving her worry, doubt, and confession deep into her mind. She put them behind the wall, the rubble, the inefficient barrier that only served to aggravate her now. But before she could really think about it, she was doing her hair, applying a last coat of lip gloss, grabbing her purse, grabbing a jacket, slipping into heels—the pair that always made his eyes darken by a few shades—and answering her door.

For two people so good at playing the game, quipping so quickly that people followed like spectators at a tennis match, they now looked remarkably stupid, staring at each other through her doorway. The deep navy suit over a crisp white button down stole her breath away, almost as much as the smile that crossed his face, blue eyes twinkling at her as he bounced on the balls of his feet. Those eyes raked up and down her figure and his smile widened. She flushed and then fumbled herself into her coat before he'd have the chance to run his hands over her arms and touch the hair into which she'd put admirable work.

"You look beautiful," he said, managing to get his lips to form something other than that slap-happy grin.

"Thanks," she said quietly, her voice higher than usual. Damn. She was doing a crappy job of keeping her cool. "You look good too."

The grin returned, but he extended a hand for her, beckoning her out of her apartment. She took it and then turned and closed her door, locking it with her other hand, rather impressed with herself. The look on his face as she turned and straightened up said he thought it was rather impressive as well; or he was going to use it in a book. Nikki Heat had probably just become ambidextrous.

"Hope you're hungry," he said, his fingers warm around hers.

She nodded, swinging her purse with her other hand. "Haven't eaten since lunch."

"Good."

And then there was silence. She bobbed her head a little and followed his tug into the elevator, standing there with him in the small space. It was comfortable, but odd, to be quiet, and eventually, to her horror, she was the one that broke.

"Where are we going?"

He glanced over at her, a smile on his face. "Impatient?"

"Curious," she shrugged, hyper aware of the hand holding hers, and the man beside her—hyper aware of what they were doing, and the butterflies in her stomach, and how utterly ridiculous it was to be this worked up. It was only Castle, for heaven's sake.

"You're a detective," he laughed, guiding her out of the elevator and to the street. She didn't see what that had to do with wanting to know where he was taking her. "Isn't it all about the mystery?" he continued as he hailed a cab.

She was rather pleased that he hadn't hired a car for the evening. "Mystery is my life, Castle," she told him as he slid in beside her. She waited while he gave the cabbie the address—unknown to her—and settled back. "That doesn't mean I want to have every part of it be mysterious."

He shook his head and she started thinking up a better excuse when he opened his mouth. "We're on a date now, Kate. Calling me Rick is probably something you should get used to."

She blinked. Did she have to call him Rick? Did she not want to? "I've called you Rick before," she managed.

"You have, and as much as I love hearing it as an expletive, taunt, or marker of something truly serious…"

"I called you Rick when we met," she interjected, feeling strangely defensive now. "Castle is…you like it when I call you Castle."

He chuckled and squeezed her hand. "I do."

"But now it's suddenly not okay?"

He sighed. "No, it's fine, but I just think…come on, you want to call me Castle all the time?"

"Well, no, but you can't just…mandate it," she said, giving him a look that even she had to deem playful. She was being ridiculous; she could own up to that. But now it was kind of fun, fighting for this little victory. She'd end up calling him Rick at some point. She didn't really want to use his last name in certain situations.

"But I think it's weird if you're still calling me Castle now that we're dating, you know?"

"Yes, but it's not like we're somewhere fancy, Castle," she tossed back with a little smirk. "We're in a taxi. We've been here before."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "So what, unless we're somewhere dignified, it's Castle? How far does that go? Am I Castle at your apartment? Am I Castle in your bed?"

There was a momentary pause in which he searched her face, looking for regret, denial, something; she was pleased to realize that there was none of that on her face or in her head. They were headed for bed one day soon, and now she just wanted to see him dig himself out of that one, because it was fun.

He considered her for another second before arching an eyebrow. "Well?"

"I wouldn't think you, king of mystery, would want to ruin the surprise," she offered, loving the little gasp of surprise that he couldn't contain.

"You're a tease," he stated.

She raised a shoulder, neither in denial nor acceptance and leaned back against the seat, pleased with herself.

"But honestly, are you going to call me Castle when we're alone? It'd be weird."

"I've called you Castle when we've been alone," she said lazily, basking in her victory. This was what they did. And no matter what, they'd have this, even in the back of a taxi, holding hands, on the way to their first date. For all that she'd built this up, the reality felt a bit anti-climactic, and honestly, that was just fine with her.

"You're telling me you're going to call me Castle when we get ma…" he stopped, lips pulled together, fingers twitching between hers. His gift—nay curse—of having a mouth that could run off without him chose the most horrible moments to take a sprinting start sometimes.

He looked over at her and she met his eyes, finding herself willing to let him out of it, even as the rest of her quietly freaked out. To be fair, they'd said as much at Ryan's wedding; that altar was a foregone conclusion, if the universe worked itself out, fate landed in their favor, and magic fell down from the sky.

He cleared his throat and she found, to her surprise, that she kind of hoped he was right about psychics and Santa Claus, if for no other reason than getting a lifetime of watching him swallow his own tongue.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: They're on their way. This is proving very entertaining to write, though I do apologize for the longer wait for this particular chapter. I always assume break will be LESS hectic than college, and I'm so frequently mistaken. <strong>

**I hope everyone had wonderful holidays and a Happy New Year!**

**Emma**


	5. Chapter 5

**Title: Partners**

**Disclaimer: While I'd love to own them, unfortunately, I just borrow them for my own entertainment.**

**Summary: Walls fall down; that's the nature of the beast. And no matter how Kate looks at it, she's staring at piles of rubble. And from rubble, where do they go next? Slight spoilers for 4x11 and beyond. **

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5:<strong>

The cab stopped in front of a low-lit restaurant in the bottom of a plain brick building. The area was mostly residential, middle class buildings and Kate stared out the window at the small front, the dark blue awnings. The place couldn't seat more than 20 people, at most.

"Degustation?" she asked as Castle—_Rick_—paid the driver and got out, extending the hand he'd taken back to her. She allowed him to help her out of the cab, lacing their fingers back together of her own volition. They'd made the physical connection and now she didn't want to break it.

"Some of the best Tapas in the city," he said with a little grin as he looked at her surprised face. She didn't know what she'd been expecting, but it wasn't this little nothing of a place. "Not flashy enough?" he teased, stepping off from the curb, guiding her into the restaurant.

"It's lovely," she said, letting out a small sigh at the rush of warm air that surrounded them. The place was bustling. There was little more to the room than the large horse-shoe counter, around which maybe 16 chair were situated, side to side. The chefs cooked right in front of you, all dressed in white, tossing, sautéing, and chatting with customers.

There were only two seats available, and Castle was already shrugging out of his coat. And then the fingers she'd avoided earlier were sliding down her arms, dragging against her goose-pimpled flesh as he removed her jacket and hung it up. His hand found the small of her back and he guided her to their seats.

The chefs looked up and the larger, sandy-haired man grinned. "Rick!" he exclaimed, reaching over to shake Castle's hand. "Haven't seen you in ages, man."

Castle laughed while he pulled out Kate's chair, efficiently preventing her from commenting on the unnecessary chivalry. The man rinsed his hand and flipped a pan full of shrimp at the same time.

"Been busy, Jeff. This is Kate Beckett, by the way," Castle added, sitting down beside Kate.

Jeff's face lit up in recognition. "Nikki Heat? You're Nikki Heat?"

Castle stiffened beside her and Kate smiled, her hand finding his thigh beneath the table. "The inspiration," she said easily. For someone with a smile like that for Castle, she could be gracious. It was the fangirls that bothered her, or the thugs. But this guy? She liked him. And he liked Castle. "But yes."

"Now I know why you've been busy," Jeff laughed. "He treating you right?" he asked, looking back at Kate, who had to stifle a loud laugh at Castle's affronted look.

"You're supposed to ask her that!" he exclaimed, bringing some of the other customer's gazes flying to their little conversation. "You're supposed to be on my team."

"I thought we were on the same team," Kate said quickly, smirking.

Castle shot her a dirty look, but his fingers found hers on his thigh, shockingly intimate, and her smirk fell into a smile she couldn't control. Apparently, she didn't do a good job at even attempting to hide it, because his eyes brightened and his entire posture changed. Had it always done that when she forgot herself, like he'd deflated from something over-stuffed, into this man who looked…radiant beside her?

"But yeah, he is," she told Jeff.

"Brought her here for our first date, so that should earn me some points in your book, traitor," Castle added.

"First date, huh?" Jeff repeated, eyebrows raised, blue eyes twinkling merrily. "Well, you'll have to have the ten course then. On the house."

"Jeff," Castle interjected, frowning.

"Nope. Force me on this, and I won't let you pay ever again."

Castle sighed but gave him a nod, and Kate watched as the man fist pumped before setting back down to cook. There was a story to this, there had to be. And she wanted to hear it. He really was rubbing off on her. She glanced at Castle's face, expectant, and he didn't disappoint.

"When I was writing the sixth Storm novel, I met Jeff in a little dive downtown, cooking back-order. I frequented this burger joint while Alexis was in school, and we got to know each other, found out he'd done a residency with a Tapas chef in Spain but had struck out…"

"And you helped him build this place?" Kate asked. It sounded just like something Castle would do. The sheepish grin was the clincher, and she found herself squeezing his fingers, his smile growing at the gesture.

"Seemed like a worthwhile investment to a good guy, and now it's this place, so it was a win-win. Wait until you try the food." She nodded and then reluctantly released his hand and his thigh so the waiter could lean in between them and pour wine into their glasses. "He's pushy tonight," Castle observed. "He usually lets me at least pick our wine."

Kate's stomach dropped a bit at the thought that he'd brought someone else here. Though, there had been many women before her, so it shouldn't be a surprise, especially to a place like this. He'd at least have brought Gina; they were married. He'd have shared this with her.

"Mother swears by Jeff's choices though, and Alexis has never been old enough to drink, so it doesn't matter. But I do like some freedoms," he huffed.

Maybe not, then. Though, he wouldn't be stupid enough to mention another woman on their date. "Is this a regular spot for you guys?" she asked, convincing herself that the question had nothing to do with an ulterior motive. She really shouldn't care about who else had come here.

But what she should and shouldn't be doing didn't seem to have a fair balance, as her hand found his thigh again, twining with his fingers.

"Only a few times a year. It's hard to get reservations, even for me," he said with a small laugh, meeting her eyes.

"And you got these in under a week?"

"Well, this is a special occasion," he winked.

Kate shook her head and watched the other diners, the men flipping foods behind the counter, the lights, the man beside her. It was a nice place, and she felt remarkably at ease—something she hadn't actually expected three years ago. Even last year, she would have thought Castle would take her somewhere flashy, full of life, noise, commotion. And now here they were, in a quiet corner of the restaurant, being served what looked like croquetas, expertly matched with the wine in their glasses.

"You'll love these. They're…"

"Croquetas, cheese or potato filled Spanish fritters," Kate finished for him, taking delight in the surprised glee on his face.

"A well traveled woman. I like it. Shall we?"

She nodded and happily cut into the first of her two croquetas, savoring the creamy filling. She flicked her eyes over to Castle and found him sitting there, fork halfway to his mouth, watching her.

"Tastes better in your mouth, you know," she teased, nudging his foot with hers.

Fork met lips and he chewed mechanically, his eyes trained on her mouth as she popped the other half of hers in to enjoy the light, flaky fried crust. She was tempted to moan, because the look in his eyes was delightful, but it seemed cruel to do so this early in the meal.

"Good?" he asked, voice a little tight.

She smiled, took a sip of wine, felt the foot he kept pressed next to hers. "Very," she admitted.

"Only gets better," he said knowingly. "So, do I pass?"

"Pass what?"

"Stage one," he replied, like it was obvious. Oh, stage one of their date. There was more than one stage?

"Yes," she said slowly. "What's stage two?"

"I didn't tell you where we were having dinner; what makes you think I'll tell you about stage two? And you call yourself a detective," he scoffed, taking a swig of wine, pleased with himself.

She frowned and flicked his ankle with her heel. He laughed. "I seem to recall something about me being the best detective in New York," she said indignantly. She could tell he appreciated the effort. His smile was huge. "So I don't appreciate your insinuation."

"My apologies," he chuckled, cutting his second croqueta in half and spearing it on his fork. He held it at her lips, eyes challenging.

If eating his food was a test, she could pass it with flying colors. She opened her mouth and watched as he fed her. It knocked at her mind that this was something intimate—something couples did. Then again, with the way he was smiling, satisfied, besotted, surprised, she figured they were a couple of something alright. Maybe they were fools, idiots, punch drunk children.

"If you keep that up, you're not getting more food tonight," he said, his voice low, a hum within their little bubble.

"Hmm?" she asked, mouth still full. He gave her a pointed look. Ah, she must have moaned after all. "Can't handle it, Castle?" she teased, using his name just to see that little spark in his eyes.

What she hadn't been prepared for was his reaction. He leaned closer, invading what little was left of her personal space. "You'd be surprised by what I can handle, Kate," he murmured, his breath caressing her mouth. "But that guy," he flicked his eyes to the right and she followed, finding a man one seat over, paused, eyes wide, staring at her. "Can't. And I'd rather be the only man who gets to hear that sound."

Her eyes snapped back to his. Possessive Rick Castle was a new experience, and she was shocked to feel that flutter in her stomach, pleased and warm. She'd never before been fond of that kind of behavior, found it stifling. But this, the depths of his eyes, curl of his lips, hint of his breath as he moved away from her—she liked it. Oh, she was doomed, wasn't she?

(…)

It was brisk as they meandered down the street, hands twined together. He insisted that Stage Two necessitated the walk, and he was touching her at every possible moment—small, innocent touches, gentle caresses. She didn't rebuff him. She enjoyed it, enjoyed letting go and existing. She felt the city wind licking at her exposed calves, curling around her ankles, forcing her to lean into the man beside her, the man who'd fed her through dinner, whispered in her ear, made her laugh and relax.

His fingers left hers and then she was enveloped in his grasp, his arm heavy and warm across her shoulders. Her own hand crept up beneath his coat; she couldn't believe he had left it open. Her fingers curled into the back of his suit jacket and she felt him shudder lightly. She pressed her lips together, hiding her smile. It was always nice to know that she had the same power over him as he had over her. Her jacket was the only thing concealing the shiver his hand elicited as it caressed the side of her shoulder.

"How far?" she asked quietly, turning to see his face, pink with the cold.

"Not much longer," he smiled, glancing to meet her eyes. "Cold?"

"Warming up," she offered. His smile grew and she shook her head, tucking herself closer as a truck blew past, bringing with it the wet cold mist of the street.

"I wish it felt more like winter," he grumbled as another gust whipped down the street. "This misty, icy rain stuff is horrible."

"Global warming," she sighed, reaching up with her free hand to brush the hair from her face.

"I miss snow," he said, wistful. "We'd totally cream Esposito and Ryan in a snowball fight."

She snorted at the image of the four of them running around Central Park, conspiring and strategizing the best way to take each other out. And no amount of loyalty to Rick would make her avoid an eventual take-down, three to one. Castle may be her partner, but they were her boys. She and Castle would cream them, but he'd end up in the snow in the end.

"You wouldn't team up on me, would you?" he asked.

She looked over at him, wondering if he'd figured it out from her smile, or just knew. She shrugged, jostling his arm. "Can't make any promises," she said, laughing as he gasped in mock-outrage.

"But I'm your partner!" he exclaimed, scandalized.

"You'll find they can be very persuasive," she countered, eyeing the dark bar he'd led her to. "This is stage two?"

He nodded and let his arm slide down her back as he stepped away to open the door, dislodging her fingers from his back, releasing them to the cold. The chill didn't last as he guided her inside the building. She hadn't caught the name, but it hardly mattered as they reached the coat check of the small club.

Wall to wall dark wood flooring covered the space, small tables arranged around a large, open dance floor. Tasteful, dim, lamps hung down, casting a golden glow around the room, and she listened to the soft, smooth Jazz that filled the space. It was sparsely populated, surprising for the hour and the quality of the music.

She was so caught up in observing the world around her that she didn't notice he'd moved until he was sliding her coat off and handing it to the employee to their right. His hands found hers and he drew her out into the center of the room, tugging her in until their chests pressed together, his large hand splayed on her lower back. She snaked her free hand up to the back of his neck and smiled as he began to sway them to the fluid clarinet crooning from the small bandstand at the back of the room.

She felt herself relaxing, body warming against his as they danced. If she'd been comfortable with him at the wedding, she was dangerously at ease now, his breath at her ear, his thumb caressing her back through the fabric of her dress. They didn't speak, simply danced, passing through four or five songs—she'd lost track—just holding each other. It was simple but powerful and she had to force herself to stay in the moment, to remain here instead of years away, dancing in the loft, at a wedding, with something held between them, sleeping against his shoulder.

"You know," he murmured, his lips glancing on the shell of her ear. "You'll find that I can be very persuasive as well."

"I'm here, aren't I?" she mumbled, hazy with it all. She'd always known that if she caved and gave him the chance, she'd be under his spell. She could feel her past self laughing; the spell she'd shied away from had initially been a conquest, a notch, and now, the spell was the smell of his cologne and the feel of his hands. It erased her doubts and made her forget her inhibitions.

"And it only took me four years," he chuckled.

She stiffened briefly, unsure of his comment, whether it was a joke or something tossed out with a laugh, the undercurrent more serious, accusatory. But then his lips kissed her cheek, just for a second, warm and wet before he replaced them with his own rougher skin, mouth back at her ear.

"Worth it," he continued, the hand at her back clutching her to him.

But she wasn't running anymore. Hell, she was barely moving, her fingers curled into his neck, her mouth dry. The words pierced her through, mending something broken that she hadn't known was there. She felt the tension leave her body, felt her own lips brush against the slight stubble by the corner of his mouth, felt herself smiling as she leaned into his grasp, forehead falling to rest against his jaw.

"So, stage two?" he whispered some fifteen minutes later.

She wondered if he'd closed his eyes as well, submitting to the pleasant feel of her body against his. She'd let it overcome her, let it buzz through her veins. For all she'd worried, it felt natural to be here with him. Whatever he'd repaired with his simple words was had blossomed in her chest, and she'd been grinning into his neck for the past quarter of an hour.

"I'd count this as a successful evening," she said, raising her head to speak to his ear, opening her eyes only when he shifted back to look at her.

"Yeah?" he murmured, eyes alight. So he'd felt it too—that shift, subtle but there, changing something in their relationship. Or maybe it was just cementing what the date had changed.

Or maybe she should just stop worrying about it and lean forward. Her lips brushed his, a whisper of a kiss. But he reeled her in, eyes wide, guiding her back even as she tried to look at him. His lips pressed firmly to hers, not demanding, not domineering, but sure and solid. His other hand dropped hers to caress her jaw, holding her to him for the few precious seconds it lasted before he pulled back.

They stared at each other, standing still, eyes passing emotions and thoughts between them without words. She caught many things in his gaze, but found herself too overcome to process them all. The overwhelming love wasn't hard to translate though, and she felt a smile on her lips before she'd allowed it permission to grow.

Unsurprisingly, he was the one who found words first. "I'm thinking I may have better methods of persuasion now," he said cheekily.

That brought her back. It was rather settling to know that even such a kiss, as powerful and meaningful as that one had been, couldn't quell the essence of the man in her arms.

"It won't work all the time, you know," she said, grimacing as his face lit up even more.

"But some of the time," he crowed, spinning them once. "I can deal with that."

Kate narrowed her eyes and pressed herself daringly closer, making sure to push her hips flush with his. He gulped, eyes widening. "You'll find that I can be persuasive too, Rick."

His gaze turned wolfish and it was her turn to swallow at the heat in his eyes, darker than normal, pleased, aroused, playful. So doomed. So, so doomed.

"I think you'll find that I have no problem with that."


	6. Chapter 6

**Title: Partners**

**Disclaimer: But doesn't it bother you that they're so obviously not real? Santa's not real. We still love opening his presents.**

**Summary: Walls fall down; that's the nature of the beast. And no matter how Kate looks at it, she's staring at piles of rubble. And from rubble, where do they go next? Slight spoilers for 4x11 and beyond. **

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6:<strong>

There was nothing Kate enjoyed less than a suspect with huge, fake breasts. Well, perhaps bad coffee, Gates' ire, and a day without Castle. And honestly, when _had_ that last one made the list?

Regardless, there were few things Kate enjoyed less than a suspect with enormous fake boobs, and the conversation around her was the reason. Esposito and Jenkins, one of the uniforms, were sitting together, heads close, whispering about the blonde in the box, cleavage spilling out of her tight, lacy camisole. Her face was nothing special, and she had about as much going for her ass as Kate did, but the chest—there was no competing with that.

Not that she was competing with the suspect, but even work couldn't quite match up to the male fascination. Boys. She couldn't even think of them as men at the moment. And, of course, beyond the busty blonde bimbo in her interrogation room, it was only 9am, on a Saturday, and she wanted to be back in bed, back in her dream, in which the chaste goodnight kiss she'd shared with Rick had turned into flying sheets and lots of heat.

"What are you thinking about, Detective?"

She turned her head and found Castle standing by her desk, two travel mugs clutched in his hands. "I thought I told you to sleep in," she offered as she took the coffee, giving him a smile.

"And miss whatever's made your cheeks heat up? No way," he grinned, plopping himself down in his chair.

She shook her head, unwilling to divulge that secret—would be cruel anyway—and took a sip of her coffee, letting out a satisfied sigh.

"I shouldn't have even brought you coffee," he added a few minutes later, after waving at Esposito, who was headed into the box to discuss the matter of breaking and entering with their trigger happy friend. It looked like a simple boy-breaks-girl's-heart, girl-shoots-boy's-heart case.

"And why is that, exactly?" she asked as she stood, bringing her coffee with her, trusting him to traipse after her as always.

"Neglecting to call me for a body drop," he said, the pout in his voice clear even as she continued walking, opening the observation room and shooing him inside.

"It was 4am," she laughed, nudging him forward so they could perch on the table together. She let out a slow breath as their thighs collided, suddenly reminded of the night before, and why this morning was not a normal morning, despite the bickering, and the coffee, and the boys being boys. "And we didn't get back until midnight. Figured I'd let you sleep."

He tore his eyes away from the two-way, blinking a few times. She waited, retort at the ready. "You know, there's body enhancement, and then there's just gratuitous surgery. I mean, she's falling out of that shirt."

She just stared at him. She felt the same way, but Castle—the Castle of two years ago, at least—would not have made that statement. It was so…mature and…not… "Yeah," she managed.

He looked smug and something clicked. She flicked his thigh, watching as he struggled not to laugh. "Don't think that's the way to butter me up," she grumbled. "It's so out of character it's almost laughable."

"Oh, that wounds me, Beckett," he said, dramatic and playful. "I'll have you know that it takes much more than that to reel me in." She shook her head—a denial, a come on, and a compliment all at one. He was good. "The gun's a plus," he added.

She gave him a look and he sipped his coffee, obviously pleased with himself. She decided not to encourage him and turned her attention back Esposito, who was quickly breaking Blondie-McBustalot.

"What have I missed?" Castle's voice broke the silence a few minutes later, just as the woman burst into tears, something unintelligible that sounded a lot like, "cheating on me," "slime," "got what he deserved," floating into the observation room through the speakers.

"Miss Grayden in there apparently paid her boyfriend, our vic, Howard Mills, back for sleeping with her sister."

"Bloody?"

"Two rounds to the chest, one between the eyes. No gloves or anything. Jill shot Bill."

He sighed and deflated next to her and Kate couldn't stop the small laugh from bubbling out of her. "Disappointed?"

"Well it's certainly not Beckett flavored," he said, looking over at her. "Then again, I have a new appreciation for the flavor, so I suppose it's not a complete loss."

"Subtle," she said with some disdain. He cracked and smiled, glancing at the door and back to her, his eyes pleading with her.

She looked back at the door and then to the box, where Espo was finishing up, getting Grayden to sign her statement. She turned back to Rick, ready to protest, but found that his blue eyes and soft smile were not something she wanted to lose. And it wasn't as though she didn't want it too. She leaned forward, allowing him a brief, wholly unsatisfying kiss. His lips were warm and she could smell the coffee mingling on both of their tongues, but this wasn't a moment to lose themselves. They'd enjoyed that moment in the taxi on the way back to her place last night, and now, she had to pull back, which she did with a little pop.

He let out a tiny, huffing breath, his fingers tightening on her knee as she leaned back from him. "Kate," he said, low, humming, appealing.

But the door opened before she could reply and she turned to smile at Espo, confident that they were both presentable, but for the fingers on her leg. He was too high on the quick close to care, and he shared the information she and Castle had ignored, a smile on his face.

"Paperwork and a celebratory lunch?" Castle suggested as they trooped back to their desks, goodwill spreading throughout the group. Two closes, two days—they'd ignore the fact that the first close had been difficult and draining and simply go with the victory.

"Sounds like a plan," Esposito grinned, 'feeding the birds.'

Kate simply shook her head and sat back down at her desk. Why they couldn't just pat each other on the back was beyond her, though, the little grin each man wore was worth the immaturity. They might not talk about it much, but Kate loved her boys, all three of them, and wouldn't begrudge them their celebration. She decided not to wonder over exactly _how_ she loved each man, and settled in to get her paperwork done as quickly as possible.

"And now, the truly eventful pastime," Castle added as he sat down and propped his head on his hand, watching as Kate pulled the required forms out of her file.

"Simply scintillating," she provided, uncapping a pen. She glanced over at him and found his eyes dancing. What? Oh, the alliteration. He was so easy to please sometimes. "You wanna help or are you going to stare at me creepily for the next two hours?"

"I'll read," he sighed, looking put out. "It takes the fun out of it if you acknowledge it, Beckett."

She snorted quietly and fished out the few interview reports they'd gathered from that morning's canvass. She'd felt a bit strange, walking the scene without him, but she had thought she was doing him a favor, letting him sleep. It didn't seem fair that both of them should be running on less than three hours—then again, that would assume that he'd slept better than she had.

There was something about lying in her bed, images of their nearly perfect date spinning through her head, that made it almost impossible to fall asleep. The phantom tingle of his lips, and the knowledge that she could have just invited him in, torn off his clothing, and taken him, didn't help either.

But they were going slow, enjoying this new dance—the purposeful brush of fingers as they exchanged papers, the significant glances, the soft smiles, the butterflies. She tore her eyes away from his and focused on the paper on her desk for the sixth time, urging herself to just buckle down. He wasn't unaffected, if his slightly dilated pupils were any indication. But she needed to get her work done, and couldn't lose herself in daydreaming—dirty daydreaming.

"More coffee?" he breathed into her ear, reaching around for her travel mug, his warmth invading her space.

She took a startled breath, surprised to find that she actually had found focus, only to have him completely derail it. "Yeah, thanks," she said, attempting to sound nonchalant, because really, it was pathetic that he could have this effect on her after only a few kisses and stolen touches in the back of a taxi, like teenagers.

She watched him saunter into the break room and let her forehead hit her hand. She hadn't expected the date to flip a switch, turning all of her amusement into arousal. And now that it had, she was desperately trying to figure out how to flip it back.

"Now, what's gotten Detective Beckett so flustered?" Esposito greeted, resting his hip against Kate's desk.

She looked up and gave him a glare, but he didn't budge. Well damn. "I don't know, Espo. You're looking pretty chipper yourself."

He narrowed his eyes but didn't back down, apparently willing to fight fire with fire. "I noticed you and Castle were pretty cozy in the observation room. Something you wanna tell me?"

"No," she shrugged, innocent, calm, blank. "Wanna tell me where you and Lanie disappeared to after the wedding?"

He shrugged, reaching over to grab an M&M from the bowl Kate hadn't realized Castle had filled. "What's to tell?"

Kate hummed and grabbed a candy of her own, staring him down. Eventually, when Castle began walking back toward them, Esposito gave up and stalked back to his desk. She wasn't worried, but they'd have to be careful if they were actually going to try and hide whatever they were becoming from the boys. Lanie would notice in an instant, and for that, Kate was grateful that she hadn't encountered the ME yet.

"What's up with Esposito?" Castle asked, placing her coffee back on her desk as he sat down.

"He had questions about our proximity in the observation room," she said evenly, keeping her voice low.

"Ah," Castle replied, bobbing his head. "How dead am I?" he added after a minute.

She took a sip of coffee to cover the laughter. His eyes were repentant, but his mouth was smirking, and it was just so quintessentially Castle that she couldn't help but enjoy it. "You're not," she said once she'd found her game face again.

That got a good reaction, all wide eyes and parted lips. She wanted to…NO.

"Really?"

She turned to meet his eyes, giving him a small, tight-lipped smile. "If I'd had a problem with it, you'd know."

His eyes shifted, up, down, over toward Esposito, and then he shut his mouth and sat back, steepling his hands together. That was always a dangerous pose, indicating that somewhere in his crazy brain, he was forming some sort of scheme. But with only another hour of paperwork to do and the prospect of an afternoon merely on call, Kate let it pass.

It was entertaining, anyway, to let part of her mind wonder what he was up to. He and Esposito exchanged a few glances and Kate finished her work in peace, ignoring them. "Lunch, Espo?" she called when she placed the last file into her outbox.

He looked up from his phone with a small frown. "Tell Lanie we say hi," she grinned, gesturing toward the elevator and standing. "We'll catch you tomorrow, if another one doesn't drop."

He scowled at her and grabbed his own coat, stalking off in the opposite direction, presumably to take the back stairs. Castle laughed and then helped her into her jacket, his hands trailing up her arms with deliberate softness.

She turned and he reached out to wrap her scarf back around her neck, his eyes never leaving hers. She swallowed as he lifted her hair out of the loops and tightened the long fabric until it was snug, protecting her from the colder air outside. The temperature had dropped significantly since the previous evening and her hands had felt it as they walked the few blocks from their cruisers to the apartment building that morning.

He released the ends of the scarf when they heard Gates' office door open and the distinctive click of her lower, but no less intimidating heels coming toward them.

"Good close, Detective," Gates offered as she came to stand in front of Kate's desk, eyeing the two of them, now standing an entirely credible distance apart, Castle slipping into the sleeves of his own jacket while Kate did up her buttons.

"Thank you, Sir," she said, giving the woman a small smile.

Gates smiled back and Kate felt her fingers falter. They'd been on better footing lately, but it still surprised her when the woman with the steely gaze and sharp, professional suits showed her any affection. "The quick ones are always a pleasure. Now go rest before you're back here for another one. Castle," she added in both greeting and parting as she turned on her heel.

"Sir," he nodded, and they watched her walk away.

It seemed Castle was content to stand, staring after their Captain all day, but Kate was eager to leave. If you stayed around long enough, a body always dropped, and they may as well use the time in between for something fun.

"Come on, Castle," she said, tugging gently on the sleeve of his jacket to get him moving.

He followed her to the elevator, smiling and leaning too close for public innocence, but she didn't have the heart to push him back. And of course, once they were inside, his hand found its way to her cheek, brushing the hair from her eyes.

"Did I mention how nice you look today?" he asked, leaving his fingers against her jaw even once the offending strand was back behind her ear.

From anyone else, it would sound a bit like a line, but his expression was so genuine that she couldn't help but smile, especially since she felt utterly normal today, compared how much effort she'd put into her appearance the previous night. It was nice to know that he liked her both ways—dressed up, and dressed for work. Though, as he leaned in to capture her lips, with the remaining three floors as a time cushion, she thought she shouldn't be surprised. She'd turned his head more than once while on the job.

Hell, he'd decided to tail her way back when she'd had that short haircut and worn the power blazers everyday, not unlike her Captain did now. The bell dinged and he pulled back, fruitlessly trying to school his features into something other than his happy grin. She laughed when he was unsuccessful, delighting in the surprise that crossed his face as she walked away.

He hurried to catch up and caught her just as she stepped out onto the street, sucking in a breath at the chill in the air. The midday traffic blared around them and people jostled this way and that while they made their mutual way down the street, ambling toward Remy's out of habit. She shivered and found her gloves, wrinkling her nose against the sting of the wind and the smell of an uncovered manhole, blasting steam and stench into the street.

A moment later, his arm was around her shoulders, pulling her into his side, his larger body blocking the cold and shooting tingles down her spine. She glanced at his face as her gloved fingers wound around to clench into his long black coat. He was smiling, his face possibly the least tired, the least heavy she'd seen it in months—possibly the least troubled than it had ever been.

Something settled in her chest, something conflicted and strange, caught between elated and pained. Happy, so happy that she was the one to inspire that look—to make this man, who bounced from jovial, to serious, to childish in an instant, wear that soft, serene, adult, _in love_ smile. But the idea that he hadn't worn such a smile since before her weighed at the back of her mind, bringing back the doubts she'd felt before the date and the way he'd caught her up, kept her calm, made her dizzy with happiness and unfettered contentment.

"Kate?"

She shook her head to clear it and gave him a smile she knew he didn't quite buy. But he seemed to read the look in her eyes, because he let it go, sweeping her up in a conversation about the merits of digital fingerprinting. She went with him, washing away in the sea he so easily created, because staying in her head wouldn't bode well—couldn't bode well, for her, or him, or them.

(…)

"And you haven't told him," Dr. Burke continued for her as she trailed off, unable to say the words herself.

"No." It was soft, even for her.

"Kate, what are you afraid of? That he'll be angry? That he'll leave?"

"He won't leave," she said, finally looking up from the patterns she'd been drawing on the arm of the chair with the pad of the finger that really needed a new coat of paint.

"You're sure of that," he concluded, watching her, for what she wasn't sure.

She hated being peered at like that—like if he stared at her for long enough, he'd know all of her secrets. And even here, in the room that was built for secrets, she still wanted to have some, something that was just hers. She sighed, because that wasn't how it worked, and her secrets wouldn't be her own for a long time.

"He won't leave me," she repeated, curling her legs up into the chair with her.

There was a pause and she watched her therapist as he mulled her words over, fingers steepled together the same was Rick's had been two days earlier. She'd found out later that he'd been planning another family dinner, this time with his mother. He'd cajoled her into attending, and she'd left the loft the previous night with such an astounding feeling of longing that she'd gone back to the precinct to work it off. Not yoga, not running, but pounding her fists into the bag—she'd needed something physical, violent, almost painful to remind herself of why she didn't belong there yet.

"How do you know?" he asked, the question slow.

"Because he's Castle."

"Then what are you afraid of Kate? Hurting him?"

She shrugged, unable to give it voice. It just hurt—the restraint, the refusal. Denying them both the chance to have something complete, just because she wasn't there yet was tiring them both, testing their patience. Perhaps more hers than his now. And maybe it was all in her head, which was a depressing idea.

"It isn't as though you haven't hurt each other before," he reminded her.

Kate laughed, surprised. "Right," she agreed.

"And if you let him in, Kate, you know it won't be the last time," he continued, a small smile sitting on his lips.

"Right," she sighed, smiling herself, because the idea was painful but funny all at once. They would definitely hurt each other again; they were them, it was what they did—hurt and heal.

"So why is this any different, Kate? Why, of all things, would the fact that you heard him and reciprocate his feelings," he paused, waiting for her hesitant nod. "Why would that ruin your relationship?"

She looked up at him and racked her brain for the answer. For something that made this different, worse, more painful and wrong than anything else they'd done to each other. He'd be hurt. She knew that. She'd have to come back from it.

"I…it's a long time," she decided, figuring that a good part of her reluctance came from prolonging the inevitable. Granted, for a while there, she wasn't so sure that it was inevitable, so caught up in her own head and fears and phobias that she couldn't tell right from necessary.

"It'll just keep getting longer," he said gently.

Kate sighed. "I know."

"And the sooner you tell him, the sooner you fix it, and the sooner…" he trailed off, waiting for her to finish the phrase for him. She'd never been fond of that practice, but recognized the validity of it.

"The sooner we'll get there," she said on a long sigh.

"So?"

"So I have to tell him," she asserted, with more bite that he probably deserved.

He laughed. "I assume you know your assignment for the week."

"There's something highly unromantic about telling someone I…love you because my therapist told me to," she said, stumbling over the words even without Rick there to hear them.

"I'd suggest you don't open with that." She scowled at him and he simply shook his head, standing to lead her to the door. "Have a good week, Kate."

"You too," she said with a tight smile as she left.

The wall beside the elevator caught her as she slumped back, hands in her pockets, lip pulled between her teeth. She needed coffee. And the man who would bring it—it would be a long day at the precinct, knowing what she wanted to say, worrying over it, weighing it in her head, against her tongue, on unspoken breaths between theories and quiet words. Would it be cowardly to say it and run?

She sighed and got into the car as it came down, bell dinging into the silence that surrounded her. Maybe she really should just open with, "So my therapist says I should probably tell you that I heard you tell me you loved me back in May, you know, when I was shot. Sorry I didn't tell you I knew for eight months. By the way, I love you too."


	7. Chapter 7

**Title: Partners**

**Disclaimer: I hope to someday have TV characters to call my own. For today, I'll just be borrowing them.**

**Summary: Walls fall down; that's the nature of the beast. And no matter how Kate looks at it, she's staring at piles of rubble. And from rubble, where do they go next? Slight spoilers for 4x11 and beyond. **

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><p><strong>Chapter 7:<strong>

"I heard you," she said, opening and closing her fists as she paced around his office. He was on the phone, had jogged upstairs as soon as they got into the loft, searching for a book or something.

So she'd slid into his office, closed the door and began pacing, circling his desk, testing the words on her tongue in whispers. It had been five days of gathering courage, only to have it whoosh away, chased off by murder, or evidence, or jokes, or well-timed (ill-timed) coffee. Alexis had wanted to have dinner Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday they'd been working, Thursday he'd had a press thing, and Friday they'd been working, breaking a case.

So here she stood, paced, worrying a cuticle away between her nails as she wandered around his office. They'd had a good date—a movie and dinner—but she'd been preoccupied, and he knew. And it set him on edge, turned him into a talking machine, and she desperately needed quiet.

Of course, now that she had it, she wanted the chatter back. Was she making mountains of mole hills, letting guilt pile up on top of other issues, creating a wave that could just as easily break on a calm beach as jagged rocks? She wasn't sure.

Her gut rarely failed her in the field, but in her personal life, its track record was messy. A failed relationship here, a doomed meeting there, an ill-fated try at everything—she wasn't good with men. She wasn't good with sharing. She wasn't good at this. But here she was, trying to leap and be more, trying to get back up, come to bat, get on the horse again. No metaphor seemed good enough. Nothing made it less terrifying, because he wasn't some guy, and it wasn't just a relationship. It was everything.

"I heard you," she repeated, in time with the opening of the office door.

She froze at the inhale from the door between the living room and office, felt her heart plummet to her toes. They were so good at bad timing, but just this once, she'd been hoping to have good timing—to time it just right. Well, to hell with that, apparently.

"You…" he trailed off and her eyes jerked to the doorway, staring at him. He cleared his throat, hand slack against the doorknob, a photo album clutched in his free hand, white button down untucked.

Kate swallowed and turned toward him slowly, hands gripping into the skirt of the casual purple dress she wore beneath her blue sweater—something colorful and fun, because after their week, they needed something bright. But now, against the bright blue of his eyes, she felt dull, and stupid, and selfish, and scared. Scared—it wasn't an emotion she normally felt. She'd been close to terror a few times this past year, but scared? Katherine Beckett didn't get scared.

Apparently though, Kate did.

"I," she wet her lips, took a breath. "Um." Eloquent, Kate.

"You heard me upstairs?" he offered, trying to give her a smile. It fell flat, and she forced her chin up. Hurt. They'd hurt each other before. They would hurt each other again.

She'd never been great with three word sentences. But this was the lesser of two evils, really. No, she shook her head, this wasn't. It was the greater of two evils, because there was nothing evil about "I love you." There was nothing evil about love. It was just the people in love who did things, who killed, and shot, and hit, and hurt. And she'd been hurting this man for a long time, and it was time to stop.

"I heard you," she said, her voice stronger than she'd expected, almost loud, almost too loud. Stumbling. Graceless. Faltering. But it was there, if the shock on his face and the wideness of his eyes were any indication.

He dropped the album and walked toward her with jerking steps. She forced her feet to stay in place, wouldn't back away. She'd faced down a sniper not that long ago. She could face this man down now—could stand her ground. And maybe if she stood her ground he'd climb up and stand with her, instead of racing ahead, a hand extended back to her, waiting for her to catch up.

"Heard me when?" he asked as he came to stand right in front of her, chest to chest, his own hands held stiffly at his sides, as though he were stopping himself from reaching out.

It gave her hope. "When—in the cemetery, at the funeral," she said, looking up at him, watching as his eyes fluttered shut for a moment. "I'm sorry," she added with that same conviction. Not pathetic. She didn't want it to be pitiful.

He opened his eyes and searched hers, one hand coming up to cup her elbow, to anchor her to him. "I knew," he offered.

She swayed with it, surprised. She couldn't tell if she was more surprised by the statement or the fact that his other hand was twining with hers. "You're not," she paused, took a breath—a breath full of him. "You're not mad?"

He shook his head and she watched his eyes. He wasn't angry, but the hurt was there, somewhere deep beneath the emotion pouring through—a mix of, "I understand," "I love you," and "I'm here."

"I just," she started, trying to find the words she'd rehearsed in her head, the justifications, and logic, and reasons. "I wanted to be…more," she sighed. She wanted to have more to offer than 'more.'

"You told me," he said gently. "On the swings. I remember."

After she'd cut him out for a summer, for nothing. For an offense he never committed. Even if she had been a little angry that he'd waited to tell her until she couldn't possibly say it back—until she couldn't possibly be in the right place, or time, or state to hear it, to say it back—until the only option left was where they'd ended up. Because he hadn't fallen in love with a simple girl. He'd fallen in love with her, and nothing with her was ever simple.

"I wanted to be ready," she said, hearing the edge of urgency in her voice that she couldn't control. "And…you knew," she trailed off, letting that hit her, letting it really penetrate through the fog of the moment. All this worry, and he already knew?

He smiled and she nearly fell over. "You're not as subtle as you think you are, Kate," he told her, laughter in his eyes.

"I," she huffed. "Excuse me?"

He just tugged on her elbow, his head bowed until his lips found hers. Nowhere in the scenarios she'd worked out in her head was this the expected outcome—warm, soft lips pressing to hers, surrounding her and muddying her senses.

She'd thought maybe he'd hug her, only after she'd explained the long months in the cabin, the months afterward, fighting things with and without him. She hadn't thought that this would happen. She wasn't thinking at all, apparently, because her hands were snaking around his neck, when they should have been pushing him away.

When they finally broke apart, he rested his forehead on hers, breath coming in short pants against her nose and lips, his eyes sparkling and a few shades darker than before.

"So," he said quietly, one of his hands trailing up her back, soft fingers pressing against the thin material of her dress. When had his hands gotten under her sweater? "What brought this on?"

Always curious. "I just," she rubbed his neck, closing her eyes for a moment to summon the words she'd worked out, the ones that she needed to say, regardless of whether he threw her out or kissed her silly. "I told you I needed to knock down the wall before I'd be what I wanted to be." She saw the light in his eyes grow dimmer and she pushed forward. "And then I realized that the wall wasn't about the case—that I didn't need to solve the case to break the wall."

That brought the light back, along with the glint he had whenever they found evidence. She supposed she was the mystery. Hadn't he said something similar? A mystery he was never going to solve? Maybe if she'd turned that door handle a second earlier they'd be—there was no use in wondering now.

"It's just a wall," she said, though it sounded strange to her ears. How silly. Just a wall. Couldn't you just knock a wall down?

She stumbled as his lips met hers again, aggressive and demanding, his hands pressing her flush against him, fingers digging into her back. He nipped at her bottom lip and her mouth fell open to him, her own fingers clutching at his neck and shoulders as she fought to stay upright.

He wrenched his head away a minute later, panting, his eyes flitting briefly to her heaving chest before tearing back up to find her own hazel ones. "How do we break the wall?"

A smile spread across her face before she could even find words and she watched as a mirroring one graced his lips. And suddenly it didn't seem so big—didn't seem like a world-ending, earth-shattering phrase. Three little words. She'd say them forever to see that smile on his face, unfettered by anything, by grief, by worry, by loss. Just him, just the smile she'd fallen in love with years ago, at a bookshop, when he'd signed a book and given her a strange sense of hope.

Never mind that he'd taken it back when she first met him again—playboy and charming asshole. No, this was the first smile he'd ever given her, and in that moment, with him wrapped around her, she'd do anything to see it forever.

"I love you," she whispered.

His entire face slackened, eyes softening, mouth closing over his teeth into a look that shot such tenderness through to her that she sucked in a breath. Forget the smile. She wanted this look forever. And then he was lifting her off her feet and spinning. She heard herself squeak in surprise, heard him laughing in her ear where she'd pressed her face into his neck.

He set her back down after a moment, breathless, and raised his hands to cup her cheeks, rubbing his thumbs against her cheekbones, staring into her eyes. "I love you, Kate," he said, his voice soft, but so different from the cemetery. This was full of hope and joy now, full of promise and laughter and light.

She hummed as he bent to press his lips to her forehead, then her nose, then her eyelids. Her hands slid down to his hips, resting there, feeling his breath and muscles beneath her fingertips.

"No more wall?" he murmured against her right cheek.

She squeezed his hip. "Help me get rid of it," she whispered.

He pulled back, grinning. "That's all I've wanted," he told her, and she could see now how the months had hurt him, how her own struggle had hurt him, not for her isolation, not for the secrets she'd kept, but because he couldn't help her through it. Because she hadn't let him.

"I'm sorry," fell from her lips without thought.

He shook his head and pressed his forehead to hers. She could see the edge beneath the love—the pain she'd have to heal, to prove that she could be what he deserved. To prove that she could be the solace for him that he was for her. "We'll start again now," he said, pressing a brief kiss to her lips. "Clean board."

She watched his eyes flit briefly to the left and then back to her, pulling her in for a another kiss and then wrapping her in his arms. She could do a clean board. She could build up with him, starting fresh with no more secrets and no more pain. They could do it together—could beat the odds.

With that realization, she took a deep breath and melted into him, feeling the last of the bricks come crashing down, the muted ruins breaking to nothing but foundation, waiting for the last flood.

"I love you," he said against the crown of her head, his voice strong and soothing, solid, almost defiant.

Water seeped into the grass around the stones left there. So maybe it wouldn't be a flood. Maybe it would just be a steady trickle. And as she closed her eyes and pressed her lips to his throat, hearing him hum in contentment, she decided that she was happy with a trickle if it felt like this.


	8. Chapter 8

**Title: Partners**

**Disclaimer: I hope be the proud owner of an internship by summer. Priorities, you know?**

**Summary: Walls fall down; that's the nature of the beast. And no matter how Kate looks at it, she's staring at piles of rubble. And from rubble, where do they go next? Slight spoilers for 4x11 and beyond. **

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 8:<strong>

Rubble. Smoke. Crumbling cement and plaster. Guns. Screaming. Hoarse, worried, harried, devastated screaming. She was screaming.

"Castle!" she roughed out, voice ringing around the hazy remains of the bank, stumbling over debris as the rest of the force fanned out behind her. "Castle!"

There was no answering call, and her stomach plummeted, turning to lead, lungs constricting. "Castle!" she begged, moving faster, swiveling the small beam of light the tiny flashlight provided through the fog of smoke.

And then she saw them, a pile of bodies, surrounded by more bodies and parts of bodies. Blood. Guts. A tie. A hand. His hand. His face, half smashed in. His arm lying a few feet aw…

"Kate."

"Castle," she cried, falling to the ground beside his mangled body.

"Kate, hey."

She blinked and reached for him, but she didn't find his face. It felt like his arm—the arm lying three feet away from them. "Castle," she whispered, horrified as she recognized the garish remains of a coat she'd seen on Martha once. God, that had to be…it had been Martha. "Castle."

"Kate!"

She jerked awake, panting, disoriented. It was dim, wherever it was. She startled as a warm hand caressed her cheek. And suddenly his face swam into view around the blur of unshed tears, his breath so fantastically present against her lips as he leaned in close. She realized she was tangled up in…his bed? Why was she in his bed? Had they—but he had been dead—and it was soft—and he was there—and he…

"Hey," he said quietly, his deep voice breaking the cycle of confusion.

"Hi," she managed, throat tight and scratchy. "Um," she paused and licked her lips. "I…dream?"

He nodded his forehead against hers. "Bad one, looked like."

She took as deep a breath as possible, filled with his scent and a hint of aftershave. "Time s'it?"

She caught the corner of his smile as he gently pressed his lips to her cheek. "3am, about."

Kate took it in, the stillness, his wide yet tired eyes, the lack of light. "Did I wake you?" she asked, loosening the death grip she realized she had on his arm, which she'd been clutching to her chest, apparently.

His sheets were soft against her skin, and she felt herself cooling off, even with him there above her, face so close, fingers gently brushing her side where his arm was flung across her stomach—or tugged across, probably.

"Kicked me," he said honestly, but she saw no reproach there.

"Sorry," she whispered. "I…usually have the bed to myself when I, uh…"

"Thrash," he provided easily. "It's okay, Kate. I just wanted to wake you up."

She sucked in a breath. It had been a long time since someone had woken her from one of these terrors. She'd been doing well since the sniper case—only a few dreams she could remember. But usually, she woke herself, screaming, gasping, wide eyed and wild, until the rhythm of the city calmed her pulse and she rationalized her way out of the horror—be it the bank, or the freezer, or the cemetery, or the 3XK, or something older, something in a lone alley with the grim face of Dick Coonan leering in the distance.

But this, with his thumb soft against her forehead, eyes searching hers, fingers tracing her side—this was immeasurably better, calming, soothing, lovely.

"Does this happen often?" he asked gently, pulling back so they could see each other properly.

She stared at his nose, whole and straight on his face, not bloody and bashed in like the man in her dream. "No," she said after a beat, remembering the question and pushing the dream away. It was only a dream—a what-if gone horribly wrong in her subconscious. "Rarely now."

He nodded thoughtfully. "New locations bring it on?"

She chewed on the inside of her lip. "I guess," she decided. She hadn't really had the opportunity to test the theory, this being the only other bed she'd slept in since returning from her father's cabin. "Speaking of," she said, unable to keep the small smile from crossing her lips. "Why am I here?"

He chuckled quietly and let his fingers trail down to the bottom hem of her tank top. "You fell asleep on the couch."

"I didn't," she sighed, staring up at the ceiling. "Seriously?

He nodded gravely, though she caught the twinkle in his eye, reflected by the soft light from the street outside. "We hunkered down to watch something funny, settled on _The Princess Bride_, and you were out within ten minutes."

Kate groaned and brought her right hand up to cover her face. While it was customary for her to face plant after a long week, passing out on her own couch to the dulcet tones of whatever came on when she turned on the TV, it was completely different to do so at Castle's, much less right after having declared her love for him.

"Sorry," she mumbled from beneath her hand. Romantic and sexy—she must have been such a sight, snoring on his shoulder. And then she'd woken him up by kicking him. They were off to a fantastic start.

He pried her hand from her face and replaced the digits with his lips, skating across her cheek and down to find hers in a kiss. It was soft and chaste, early morning mixed with exhaustion. Maybe he hadn't fallen asleep on the couch, but she knew it had been a long week for him too. And that conversation in his office, the long hug afterward—it was heavy, and wonderful, and terrifying. Enough to put her to sleep, apparently.

"I didn't mind," he told her as he pulled back.

"And the next logical step was to carry me, I assume, back to your bed?"

He grinned. "Of course."

She shook her head lightly, reaching up to smooth some of his bed head. His eyes softened even further and he smiled dopily at her, rubbing his cheek on her hand as it fell to his shoulder.

"Well, thanks for tucking me in," she said, pleased with the way his eyes lit up at her words.

"I'd be happy to make it a habit," he said immediately.

She gave him a half-hearted sigh for show and squeezed his shoulder as she yawned. "Sorry for kicking you."

He shook his head. "I'm glad you did. Whatever you were dreaming—I was glad I could wake you."

"It goes away," she said quietly, uneager to having him worrying over her sleep habits, see him crinkling his brow every time she had an extra coffee. They were just dreams—horrible, terrible dreams—and they passed.

"You just kept saying my name," he continued, troubled. "Over and over, and you got louder, and…"

She placed a hand over his lips. Letting him in, breaking the wall, telling the truth meant that he got her like this—this incomplete person with scars and terrors and the occasional bout of PTSD. "I'm okay," she said firmly. "Been okay for a while, and I'll keep getting better."

He kissed her fingers. "Can I help?"

Her natural instinct was to say 'No,' immediately. But she'd made a promise to herself to let him in; hell, she'd basically made him that same promise. And his bright blue eyes watched her with such concern, such affection, such undeniable love. "Waking me up is nice," she conceded truthfully.

Not living through the rest of that dream was a relief, and it was so much better to wake up to him shirtless (and how had she missed _that_ detail?) and wrapped around her, than to wake up alone, sweating, and itching to call him, just to make sure, just to check, just to hear his mumbled, 'wha?' on the other end of the phone.

"Can do," he smiled as he slouched down beside her, arm still cradling her side, pulling her into him as he slipped his other arm beneath his pillow. "Can you sleep?

She nodded and turned onto her side, curling one arm up to her chest as her other came to rest on top of his while his hand traced patterns on her back. He pulled her closer until they shared his pillow, noses touching. The intimacy wasn't cloying, wasn't stifling, just comfortable, familiar—an invasion of space that seemed like such a logical leap from the way they stood and worked together day in and day out.

"Alarm?" he whispered.

"Did you set one?"

"For seven," he confirmed, wincing with a pout.

"Turn it off. We're on call," she said softly, smiling at the answering grin that split his face. Reluctantly, he rolled over and flicked the switch on the alarm she could see on his bedside table over his shoulder, illuminated with a faint green glow from the digital face that blinked, 3:05am at them.

She realized rather belatedly that she had no idea what the room looked like. And yet here she was, lying in his bed, with his arm sliding around her middle and his lips ghosting over her nose.

"Does Alexis know I'm here?" she asked, feeling the little puff of air he let out at his daughter's name.

"She smiled and wished us a good evening. Got back about two hours after you passed out. You're old."

"Don't go there," she cautioned, yawning. "You'll never win."

He laughed and she felt vibrations through his arm as he tugged her close enough to find her mouth. She could easily get used to this, to going to sleep with him, and waking up, and living and…there was time for all of that tomorrow.

"Night, Rick," she mumbled as they pulled apart.

"Good morning, Kate," he said, his voice light. "Sweet dreams."

She hummed and let herself sink into the pillows and the feel of his arm heavy over her side. She could hear every soft inhale as they lay there, faces inches apart. It was so absurdly normal, so mundane to lay there with him. And it felt like they'd been doing it for forever—no awkward movements, no disjointed conversations, just sleep.

As she nodded off, she found herself imagining what the room looked like, since she could only make out shapes in the darkness. It was strange however, because an inordinate amount of her own belongings inexplicably found their way into the pictures in her head.

(…)

It turned out that they didn't have enough time for her to inspect the room. The call came in at eight, waking them from a deep sleep, her body sprawled over his. She ended up knocking his chin with the top of her head, and they grumped themselves through a hurried morning ritual. They exchanged short words and moved around each other with ease, both too tired to really appreciate the paradigm shift of physically getting ready together; they were out of his apartment and on their way back to hers before either really had the opportunity.

In the romance department, they weren't doing so hot.

"Kate, where are your coffee filters?" he called. She could hear him clanking around the kitchen as she slipped into a turtle neck, pulling her damp hair from the collar.

"Second cabinet up," she replied, hurrying back into the bathroom to blow dry her hair.

While domestic in a strangely pleasant way, this morning, with him clunking around her kitchen and her rushing to put on eyeliner, wasn't quite what she'd hoped it would be. A slow good morning, a laze in bed, a breakfast in his kitchen—anything but this scattered scramble to get to the scene in a decent amount of time would have been better. She'd imagined it better than this, but somewhere in her head it brought the point home; they'd been in a relationship for a long time already, and her revelation was just another step toward whatever they would become.

Earth shattering, it was not.

She made her way back to the kitchen, pausing to slip on her second boot as she leaned her hip against the couch. He watched her, standing near the door, two coffees in hand, in their usual, reusable mugs. She hadn't even noticed him bringing them with him. Some detective she was.

"Ready?" he asked as she approached him, swinging her hips more than she probably should. His answering grin was encouragement enough. "I'd say you're more than ready," he amended.

"To go find a body," she added as his grin turned lustful.

"I can find a body right…"

She covered his mouth with her hand, using the other to smooth down the lapel of his pea coat. "Quit while you're ahead."

He laughed beneath her hand and she leaned up to press a quick kiss to his lips before stepping out of reach and ushering him out of the apartment. He bumped her arm with her coffee and she took the cup from him, letting the warm plastic heat her colder hands as they got into the elevator, riding quietly down to the first floor.

"What did Espo say about the body?"

She turned to look at him as he held the door to the lobby open for her, letting in a rush of frigid, wet air. It was about 40 degrees, reasonably warm for January, but the wind and the overcast sky made it seemed much colder.

"Nothing, just to meet him at the Provenzano Lanza Funeral Home," she said as they headed down the block to her cruiser, which they'd dropped off before heading on their date the night before.

"There's a murder at a funeral home?" he asked, barely, badly suppressed glee infusing his voice.

And sure enough, his eyes were wide with excitement. "I guess so."

"Awesome."

Kate shook her head and unlocked the car, handing him her coffee as he got in. She watched as he placed it in the cup holder while she moved around the hood to get into the driver's seat. It was a system they'd developed after she'd accidentally spilled coffee all over his lap one morning, stumbling as she sat down and her cuffs had poked her in the hip. He always watched the cups warily now, and she couldn't help but laugh as she threw the car into drive and peeled out into the rush hour traffic. The detour to her apartment had put them smack dab in the 9am lock. Esposito wouldn't be pleased.

"Do you think it was the mortician? Ooh, what about a reanimated body. Does that even count as murder?" he mused, sipping his coffee and watching the traffic around them.

"I suppose if it's reanimated, it was never really dead to begin with, so yes, that counts," she considered, playing along, because it was infectious. He made everything fun; she couldn't deny that.

His fingers stroked her wrist as she picked up her coffee. "But what if it's a zombie?"

"Then we have bigger problems than a murder investigation," she replied, looking over at him as they came to yet another red light.

He laughed, delighted. "What's your kill strategy?"

"For the zombie apocalypse?"

"Of course. You must have one," he said, voice forcibly serious.

She glanced over at him as she took a sip and went through another intersection. "I have a gun."

"That's dull," he said with a sigh.

"Fine. What's your interesting, zombie-killing strategy?" she asked as they got onto the right block.

He pondered for a moment as she zipped into a spot along the sidewalk. Across the street they could see a few uniforms posted beneath the awning that jutted out from the gray building. It looked like the front for a clothing store, with dark gray bands along the windows and between stretches of lighter gray stone, "Provenzano" spelled out in large chrome letters below the windows on the second story.

"Gun shot to the forehead, and then a flame thrower. You have to ensure that they can't get back up," Castle explained as they got out.

She was already sinking into cop mode, watching the milling people outside the home, looking for anomalies. Word must have gotten out to the morning papers, because there were a few cameras in the crowd, flashing as they took photos, their photographers yelling out to the uniforms and various other department personnel flitting in and out of the building.

"My gun would give you the time to find something flammable," she said as they crossed the street.

"That assumes that we're together," he fired back, lifting the tape barrier that extended around the building for her.

"Oh please, Castle. You know the last thing you should ever do in a horror story is split up," she said as they nodded to the uniforms. Castle held the door for her and Kate walked in ahead of him; this was her job after all. She needed to be the first one through the door.

"Up and to your left," Velasquez told them, gesturing to the staircase directly in front of them.

There were two rooms off to either side of the grand, red-carpeted staircase, and CSU was already combing through them.

"Finally. Took you two long enough," Esposito announced as he appeared at the top of the stairs. "Did you walk in together?"

"Yes," Kate replied with a small measure of bite to her voice, hoping to get him to drop the subject. She didn't feel like explaining their tardiness.

"Might want to keep your hand off Beckett's back when walking into a crime scene, dude," he offered with a little grin, before pointing to the left and disappearing.

Kate swung around. "You were touching my back?"

"You didn't seem to mind, and only for a second," he said quickly, contrite. She felt a soft pressure lift off of the small of her back, perplexed by the idea that she hadn't noticed it at all.

"Outside?"

"Of course not," he laughed, giving her a look before stepping around her and starting up the stairs. "Come on, Beckett. There's a body."


	9. Chapter 9

**Title: Partners**

**Disclaimer: I've got some good title ideas for OTHER stories.**

**Summary: Walls fall down; that's the nature of the beast. And no matter how Kate looks at it, she's staring at piles of rubble. And from rubble, where do they go next? Slight spoilers for 4x11 and beyond.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 9:<strong>

"Beckett."

"Hmm?"

"Food."

Kate turned back from the board, eyes blinking to readjust to the light. Though staring at the little they had never really solved anything, it always made her feel productive, especially at the end of a long day, when everything had stopped. Prints wouldn't process until morning. Ballistics hadn't yet come back. The test on the oozing slime on their victim's back was being passed through departments because no one really knew what to do with it.

All together, they were at a stand still.

"Kate," Castle added, bringing her attention back to her shadow, sitting in his chair, jittering his leg.

"Sorry," she mumbled, a little out of it. The whole day had been exceedingly bizarre.

"We should eat something."

"What time is it?" she asked, running a hand through her hair as she shoved the meager files they'd collected into a folder, sliding it into her organizer.

"About eleven," he replied, and she could hear the exhaustion in his voice.

"Jeez," she groaned, stretching.

"I've had six M&Ms since lunch. Come on, I'll make us dinner," he suggested, standing and gesturing for her to do the same.

She stood and reached for her jacket, only to find him already there, holding it up for her. Once she was settled in the sleeves, she turned to face him, ready to thank him, or smile, but his hands were already busy doing up her buttons, stealing the words from her mouth.

"Uh," she said inelegantly. She'd slept in his bed, confessed her love, shared kisses, scrambled to get ready with him in the morning, and this was what put her on edge?

"Come on," he said with a smile, reading her just right. And damn was he smug about it, his hand falling to her back as he hustled her out of the bullpen and toward the elevator, lips quirked in a triumphant grin.

Gates had gone home three hours earlier, and the boys had shoved off at about ten. She'd offered him the option of leaving, but Castle had decided to stay, ostensibly since his mother and daughter were out seeing a movie. But maybe he'd stayed just to slip her into her coat and cart her back to his apartment.

"What are you making?" she asked, too tired to fight it, and rather pleased to find herself with no desire to do so.

He hummed in thought as they stepped into the elevator. "Pizza?"

"Homemade pizza, at this hour?"

He laughed and pulled out his phone with his free hand, the other too busy rubbing circles against the back of her coat. He pressed a few buttons and then glanced over at her. "Should meet us there."

"Make us dinner indeed," she teased as the doors opened and they stepped out.

She moved to go toward the garage but the hand on her back guided her toward the doors to the street. "We'll take a cab. We'll have to come back to the station anyway tomorrow morning."

She didn't really feel like taking a cab to his place, then to hers, and then back to the precinct in the morning. But he strode with purpose and she didn't even think about twisting away from the hand that brought her along with him. As he hailed a cab, pulling her toward him against the cold, like it was commonplace to use her as a space heater, she realized that he wasn't planning on sending her home at all.

"What?" he asked as a cab began making its way toward the curb for him.

"Nothing," she denied, getting in as he held the door open for her.

He slid in beside her and gave the cabbie his address before sinking back into the worn leather with a quiet sigh. "Long day," he offered after a silent minute.

She nodded, trying to sort the bizarre case of the Mortician murdered on a morgue table, stuffed in a coffin, and left out in the display room, from the idea that Castle was taking her home—not to eat, not to talk, just taking her home, for the night.

"I keep thinking crazy morgue phantom, but even that seems a little thin."

She couldn't help it, she laughed and glanced over at him. He looked so pleased with himself for it too. "I think your CIA conspiracy had more weight."

"Right?" he laughed. "Wait, so you think it's possible?"

"No," she cut him off quickly, uneager to repeat that conversation again. It had taken her ten minutes to prove him wrong the first time around as it was. "It just makes more sense than a phantom. Both, however, are ridiculous."

"You're no fun," he decided, slouching next to her.

Kate considered him. They were both exhausted, and though it had been a relatively enjoyable day, mostly because of those theories he wouldn't drop, it had still been trying. She was more than eager to forget all about the strange case and creepy rooms they'd had to comb through, checking inside coffins and morgue drawers for evidence, interviewing widows and families of the recently deceased, walking through more than one graveyard looking for names.

And so her hand found his knee, kneading his muscle gently before wandering upward. His breath caught in his throat and she smiled. No fun, was she?

His eyes found hers, wide and excited, his own arm snaking around her back to pull her closer. "Detective Beckett, are you feeling me up in a cab?"

"You didn't seem to have any problems with it a week ago," she said with an innocent smile, enjoying playing with him like this, so casually.

"I just wanted to clarify. Do continue," he said, his own fingers trailing up and down her upper arm as he leaned toward her. "In fact, feel free to ravish me at any point."

The cab stopped and she laughed at the crestfallen look on his face. "Come on, Rick. Feed me and we'll talk."

He practically dragged her out of the cab and into his building, his large hand warm around hers. She laughed as he came to a halt in front of the elevator, impatient.

"Feeling a little high strung there?" she asked as the doors opened.

She was unprepared when he spun her into the car and pushed her up against the back wall, his lips descending to find hers in an aggressive kiss. She caught up quickly, snaking her arms up and around his neck as his hands spanned her waist. Abrupt, but she wasn't complaining. It was a far more effective way to wake up than a late cup of coffee.

He pulled away from her with a gasp as the elevator jerked to a halt on his floor. "You're a tease," he mumbled, hands squeezing her hips.

"You love it," she tossed back, running her thumb over his lips with a smile. "Now move, I'm hungry," she added, her nose catching the scent of pizza. She hoped the poor delivery guy hadn't been there for long.

She pushed at his chest, pressing her lips to keep from laughing at the disgruntled look on his face. Reluctantly, he turned and left the elevator, pulling her along, because he wouldn't let go of her hand.

Sure enough, a bored delivery kid was standing outside Castle's door, leaning against the wall.

"Hey, Jeff. Sorry. Ernie should have told you to wait in the lobby," Castle said, releasing her hand to fish around in his pocket for his wallet.

"No problem, Mr. Castle," the kid said, shaking his head to get his shaggy brown hair out of his eyes, beneath the base-ball cap on his head. "Thank you," he added, taking the money Castle extended to him. "Have a good night."

"You too," Castle nodded, fishing for his keys and handing them to Kate before taking the pizza from Jeff, who sidled around them with a tap to the brim of his hat.

Castle gestured for her to get the door, and, with a feeling of importance that seemed unwarranted for the moment, Kate slid the key into the lock and turned the handle, letting them into his loft. He followed her and kicked the door closed, moving into the living room as she toed off her heels and shrugged out of her jacket. She opened the closet to find a hanger, pushing jackets aside for a moment until his body surrounded hers, standing unnecessarily close to hand her the free hanger he found, crowding her.

She ignored him, slipping the jacket onto the hanger and finding a spot for it in the closet. He stayed pressed up against her, even as he removed his own coat, the heat from his body overwhelming her, arms brushing hers, chest strong against her back. His hips were flush with hers by the time he was done hanging up his coat and she resisted the urge to move, whether to prevent him from getting flustered, or her, or because she was starving, she was unsure.

He seemed just as conflicted, his hands falling to rest at her elbows. His breath was hot against her neck, and she had to wonder why, of all places, they were pressed up against each other in his coat closet.

"Pizza," she said quietly. If they were going to do something physical, they should do it somewhere that wasn't full of his daughter and mother's clothes. And preferably soft.

"Right," he let out, a sigh, a groan, and a laugh all at once.

He stepped back, tugging her with him, and then turned her around so he could lean down and press his lips to hers, tender this time. She felt her eyes flutter open as he pulled away and she found his as his hand snaked up to tuck a lock of hair back behind her ear.

"Food," she prompted when he made no efforts to move.

"Right."

She laughed and stepped out of his arms, grabbing his hand to pull him into the living room, plopping herself down on the cushions he'd laid out on the floor. He settled in beside her and opened the box, handing her a slice and a paper towel before grabbing one for himself.

They ate in silence for a minute, inhaling their slices, legs pressed together beneath the coffee table. He ate his crust while she grabbed a second slice for each of them, leaning back so that her shoulder was nestled in the crook of his. She hooked her leg over his and smiled as he wrapped his arm around her and took his second slice.

She took a bite just as he started to laugh. "What?" she mumbled, hardly caring about being dainty. It tasted heavenly.

"Ryan's face when Espo popped out of that coffin!" he managed, now laughing in earnest, his shoulder jostling her body.

She began to giggle at the memory. Ryan had jumped back by about five feet and given a shriek worth of the man now sitting beside her. The young detective had been off for the rest of the day, grumbling and jumpy, while Esposito had preened. It even beat out the Castle Curse of 2010.

Soon they were clutching at each other, laughing and gasping for breath, their pizza forgotten, tossed into the box as they sprawled out on the floor, bodies now almost fully beneath the coffee table.

"You…do you think we could do that to Lanie?" he asked once they'd found enough air to stop panting like they'd just run a marathon.

She reached over lazily and swatted at his chest, leaving her hand against the smooth fabric of his purple button down. He was one of the only men she'd ever met who could pull it off. Then again, he wouldn't be pulling anything off if he ever tried to scare Lanie like that.

"She'd kill you," she replied, shaking her head against the arm he'd slid under it sometime during their laughing fit.

"She wouldn't laugh?" he pouted.

"She'll cut you up and flush you, or something. Think about the tools she's got down there."

He turned on his side so he could look down at her face, big blue eyes wide and innocent. "You wouldn't fight for me?"

Kate bit her lip and turned so that they were face to face, lying there on the floor. "Against Lanie?" He nodded. "You really want to subject me to the homicidal ME with the sharp tools?"

"You'd be saving me though. And I'm important to you," he argued, running his free hand down to rest against her hip, large fingers inching under her shirt.

"Yes, but if we're both dead, we're no good to each other," she said softly, controlling her smile.

"You could totally take her," he asserted. "Come on, she's feisty, but you're completely badass."

Kate flicked his chest lightly. "I don't know how I feel about helping you fantasize about a catfight between me and Lanie."

His eyes widened. "Right. Yeah. No," he stumbled out. "We'll…"

She took pity on him and dragged him into a kiss, enjoying the way he instantly clutched her to him with his free hand, drawing her body against his, aligning every plane together, like they were a perfect fit.

She'd never really been a woman to believe in perfect. Perhaps she had before her mother had died, but since then, distant had been perfect, busy had been perfect. But here, with Rick, who was always there, never distant, only ever busy with her, she felt like perhaps 'perfect' was okay. She knew they weren't actually perfect. Hell, she'd only just admitted that she loved him, after four years, and he'd been less than saintly more than once.

But they were here now, with his lips ghosting over her face as her hand wandered over his chest. And it felt as close to perfect as anything ever had, even though they were shoved beneath his coffee table at midnight, after spending a day traipsing around with death.

"You know," he mumbled against her lips. "I do have a bedroom."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he pulled back, mouth open, his expression caught between sheepish and aroused. The former was ridiculous, and she could do with seeing more of the latter. Maybe not all of it, tonight, but even making out would be more comfortable in his bed.

"I thought this was one of your moves, or something," she offered, letting him off the hook with an arch of her eyebrow and a smirk.

He let out a loud burst of laughter and let his forehead fall to rest against hers. "Please. I have more game than that."

"Oh really? And I'm seeing this level of game because?"

He scowled at her, an effect that was utterly diminished with his face so close to hers. "Because you are no ordinary woman, and I would hope that I'm above the game here."

He said it with a grin and a lilt, but she caught something beneath it that made her arch to meet his lips, tugging his head into hers for a searing kiss. She didn't need the game at all. She was more than content with a stolen evening of take-away pizza and a lounge in his enormous bed.

"Take me to bed, Mr. Castle," she said softly, pulling away to catch his eyes, which were darker, dilated, and hazy with something she couldn't identify.

"I love you," he said, the words seeming to fall from his lips without thought, if his sharp inhale and clutch of her hip were any indication.

She smiled, hoping to put him at ease. She didn't want that slip of the tongue to worry him, didn't want his love to be something that he bottled up anymore.

"Love you too. Now get me off the floor."

(…)

The floor of the loft was cold beneath her bare feet. Kate danced on the spot as she switched on the coffee maker and pulled down two mugs. Castle was still out cold, limbs sprawled over the bed. She'd wound up on her stomach, face pressing into his bicep, with one of her legs hitched over his hip. Strange, but not uncomfortable, it had taken her a while to force herself out of his bed and into the kitchen.

The machine whirred to life and she listened to the slow drip of coffee into the carafe, smiling as she leaned back against the counter, tugging the sleeves of his big sweatshirt down over her chilled hands.

It was comfortable at the loft. It was comfortable in his bed. It was comfortable with him pressing down on her, lips at her throat, hands everywhere, his panting breath in her ear. And it was comfortable when they'd worked themselves into a tizzy, then collapsed laughing at a well-timed raspberry he'd blown on her stomach.

They hadn't had sex. He'd seen her in her underwear, but they hadn't had sex. And for a woman in her thirties, who enjoyed sex quite a bit, Kate found that she didn't mind. The pull was there. The attraction was there. But waiting was fine. Waiting was comfortable.

Standing in his kitchen in his sweatshirt and a pair of boxers was new, and different, and filled with a sense of normalcy that warmed her down to her toes. Who was she and what had she done with Kate Beckett? Was 'I love you' really such a game changer?

"Kate?"

Perhaps, but the bigger game was fielding questions from the sleepy teenager padding into the kitchen, rubbing at her eyes, red hair falling in a messy braid down her back.

"Morning, Alexis. Why are you up so early?" Kate asked, pulling down a third mug as she did.

"Dunno," she sighed, falling onto one of the stools. "Restless."

"Your dad says you're not taking many classes this semester," Kate offered, a little at sea. She liked Alexis, and their relationship had grown over time, but she'd never interacted with the girl in the witching hour on a Sunday.

She nodded. "Just one."

"And I take it you're not busy enough?" Kate surmised, grabbing the carafe as the machine beeped. She poured two mugs full of coffee and slid one over to Alexis.

"No," the girl sighed, taking the mug with a smile as Kate grabbed cream from the fridge and set it between them. "I want to get an internship, but there are less of them than I thought there'd be for high school kids at this point in the year."

Kate nodded sympathetically as she took a sip of coffee. It was the good stuff—the high end stuff she'd wanted ever since she'd stayed at the loft back when her apartment had blown up. She took a deep breath full of the smell of coffee and the cologne on his sweatshirt, before putting down her mug.

"Why do you need an internship?" she asked, watching the girl as she considered the question.

"I need something to do, and I don't just want to sit around for the next two months, waiting," she explained, and Kate could suddenly see the wear on the young woman across from her. She remembered waiting for acceptance letters, worrying and obsessing over her future.

"You could travel too, though, couldn't you? Take a friend?"

"And go where?" Alexis replied, sagging. "I just want to feel like there's some reason for me to be here. I was supposed to be at Stanford, and now I'm stuck and I can't sleep, and," she cut herself off, raising her head to meet Kate's eyes. "What are you doing awake at this hour?"

Kate blinked at the rapid change of subject, amused. She was her father's daughter after all. "Cop hours. And I have to get your dad up soon if he wants to go see about our prints from yesterday."

Alexis nodded, taking that in. "Not to be blunt, but, you know, you're wearing my dad's clothes."

Kate took a sip of coffee and met the girl's eyes. "I am."

"I haven't really talked to my dad in a few days," she continued. Kate wondered if it was a subtle dig at his shadowing duties, but then the girl smiled. "But he's been walking on a cloud for the little bit I have."

"Hmm," Kate offered, finding herself at a loss for anything more substantial. Martha, she thought she might be able to handle. But being vetted by Alexis was an entirely different story.

"And you look pretty good too," she added.

Kate laughed despite herself. "Thanks?"

Alexis blushed briefly. "Not…happy. I meant happy. Happier than I feel like either of you has been since," she trailed off and Kate nodded slowly.

"We've been working some things out," she started and then shook her head. If she was done lying to the father, she sure as hell should be done lying to his kid. "I've been working through some things," she corrected. "And, yeah, we're in a good place now."

Alexis smiled, a genuine smile she hadn't seen in a long time—the one she'd thought was only reserved for Castle, for Rick, the father. "I'm glad," Alexis said quietly.

"Me too," Kate agreed, smiling a little. "And you're okay with…this?" Smooth.

Alexis laughed quietly. "Honestly, I wasn't so sure a few months ago," she said, meeting Kate's eyes. "He was so upset this summer, and so lost in the case."

Kate blew out a breath and briefly closed her eyes. She'd considered what it must have done to Alexis when she'd seen Castle all those months ago, giving fake, tight smiles to the fans around him—had seen the bags under his eyes. Had remembered seeing the bags under her own father's eyes.

"But when you came back, he went back to normal," she continued. "And that normal changed to happy, and then this past week he's been…"

"Dopey," Kate supplied, watching the girl laugh.

"Yeah," she agreed.

"I'm sorry," Kate offered, the words tripping out of her mouth. "I never meant to hurt him, and I never meant to hurt you."

"I know," Alexis told her, sounding wise and old beyond her years.

Kate hoped, abruptly, that she hadn't contributed to that maturity, more than simply being shot. The things she'd put this family through. "And if I can…if you ever need any help, or if something's wrong, you can tell me," she continued, unsure if she had the right to offer such things, after the summer, and the fall, and the mess she'd made. "I want to be good for your father, good for you, for this life you have," she continued, her voice soft but firm.

She watched Alexis' eyes grow wide with the statement and worried she'd said too much, gone too far, pushed beyond the fragile limits of their strange relationship—each devoted to the man they loved, sharing him.

"Thank you," Alexis said quietly, her finger tracing the rim of her mug. "But can you promise me something?"

"Anything," Kate said quickly. "Well, within the realm of human feasibility," she added.

Alexis laughed quietly. "You spend too much time with my dad."

"Yeah, I probably do," Kate agreed with her own chuckle.

Alexis raised her eyes to meet Kate's, innocence and growth shining out of their blue depths—eyes so much like her father's. "Just come back next time, okay?"

Kate blinked and let out a slow breath. "I'm sorry?"

Alexis shook her head, pausing to find the right words. "If you get shot, or something else happens, can you not…" she licked her lips. "Don't shut him out again. That's all I ask. I can't have a ghost for a dad again."

Kate let her head hang for a moment, overcome. Healing the father would be easier than healing the daughter, even if neither seemed mad at her anymore. "I'm sorry," she breathed, raising her head to find the girl's eyes.

"Don't be sorry," Alexis offered with a shrug. "Just stick around this time."

Kate bobbed her head. "That I can do," she said quietly.

Alexis smiled and took a sip of her coffee, grimacing. "Man, I hate this stuff."

Kate laughed, surprised. "Really?"

"I always think I'll like it the next time I try, but ugh, no. Thank you, though," she tacked on.

Kate shook her head. "No problem. Can I make you breakfast?"

Alexis' eyes widened. "Um, sure, I guess. Thanks," she said.

Kate detected more than surprise there—maybe a little awe, a little hurt, a little craving. She shook her head at the thought and opened the fridge to pull out eggs and butter, snagging a loaf of bread from the counter as she went.

"Eggs in a hole okay?"

Alexis smiled and nodded eagerly. "One of my favorites."

"Mine too," Kate told her, opening the bread and pulling out a few slices.

Alexis watched as she cooked, moving around the burners with ease. His kitchen was bigger than hers, with more burners, and it made cooking effortless. She caught the girl smiling as she cooked, one of her hands reaching over to snag an orange from the bowl of fruit on the counter.

"You're far more graceful than my mother in the kitchen," she offered.

Kate looked up at her, surprised, just as the door to the office banged open and Castle came lumbering through, rubbing a hand through his hair. He stopped at the sight of them, domestic and together in his kitchen. She watched the shock turn to affection as he smiled warmly at her.

"Morning," he offered, walking over to place a kiss to his daughter's head.

"Morning, Dad," Alexis said, smiling as he walked around the counter to wrap his arms around Kate's waist.

"You're up early," he said to Alexis. "And hi," he added, kissing Kate's cheek.

She smiled and leaned her head into his in greeting as Alexis explained her restless night to her father. He offered his own advice as he detached from Kate's back and stepped beside her to help finish off the egg-toast and bacon she'd decided to add to the mix.

Kate glanced at Alexis as they plated breakfast, sliding her a plate full of food. The girl looked contemplative, her eyes flitting between the two adults on the other side of the counter. She decided after a moment that the elusive emotion in the young woman's eyes was wonder.

Rick gave her hip a squeeze as he moved around her to grab one of the plates. She turned to look at him and he leaned in and pecked her on the lips before striding away to settle in beside his daughter.

Alexis gave him a smile and then looked back at Kate, eyes full and happy, carefree, innocent.

It struck her that this might be the first time she'd watched her father make breakfast with someone since he'd been with Gina, possibly even before then. That it might be the first time she'd been truly included in one of her father's relationships in a while.

And they were sharing that with her.


	10. Chapter 10

**Title: Partners**

**Disclaimer: I don't think the Castle team is worried about credit requirements for summer programs.**

**Summary: Walls fall down; that's the nature of the beast. And no matter how Kate looks at it, she's staring at piles of rubble. And from rubble, where do they go next? Slight spoilers for 4x11 and beyond.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 10:<strong>

"Gotta say, I didn't see that coming," he said, a grin plastered across his face as she finished off the last of her paperwork.

"Me either," she agreed, triumphantly dropping the last file into her outbox. "But, luckily enough, Mr. Brack won't be blackmailing widows ever again."

"Or killing people and experimenting with chemical body disposal," Castle added, looking entirely too gleeful. She couldn't exactly blame him. The crazy mortician was about as close as they'd ever come to a mad scientist.

"This is going into the next novel, isn't it?" she asked as she stood and swung on her coat.

He nodded emphatically and joined her, handing over her half-full travel mug. "How can I resist?"

"No idea," she dead panned, nodding to the boys before leading her partner over to the elevator.

"Just think; he could capture Nikki and Rook and try to perform experiments on them while they're handcuffed to a table together."

"Why handcuffed together?"

"Why not handcuffed together?"

Kate shook her head and stepped in after him, moving to lean against the back wall, stretching her arms over her head. He sidled up to her, sneaking in so that her arm fell to rest on his shoulder. Cute, but rather uncomfortable, she squeezed his neck briefly before shifting to bring her arm back to her side, letting it slide down to twine her hand with his beside her.

"Paperwork early tomorrow, or just on call?" he asked as the doors clanged open, letting the sting of cold air hit their bodies. The garage was warmer than the street above it, but it still swirled with chilled air, a testament to the clear sky the night before.

"On call," she replied, tugging him out of the elevator and toward her cruiser.

"Come over for dinner?"

She turned to look at him, stopping at the trunk of the crown vic, her eyes darting from their hands and up to his slightly stubbled cheek, combing up to his eyes, pausing at his lips along the way. His mouth was slightly parted and she heard his slight inhale as they finally locked eyes. She'd stayed over on Sunday as well, but the past two nights had been a swirl of break room coffee and stolen hours in her own bed; Castle had stayed at the station with her through most of it, but he had a family, and begged off last night to see them, insisting on Monday that he at least needed to make Alexis breakfast.

She didn't begrudge him the time with his family; she was jealous of it, actually. There was something lovely about chatting with his daughter over breakfast or dinner, rather than foraging in the break room or nicking granola bars from Karpowski's stash in her bottom drawer.

"I'll make that pasta thing I brought last week that you liked," he enticed, his thumb rubbing over the back of her palm.

She laughed lightly. "You don't need to blackmail me," she said, squeezing his hand once before dropping it to step toward her door. "I'm happy to have dinner. Just let me stop at my place to change?"

"But you look fine," he protested, climbing into the passenger seat and shutting the door, his expression completely innocent. She suspected he was withholding more non-work-appropriate adjectives.

Kate smiled and buckled her seat belt. "Thanks, but if we're spending the evening at your place, I'd rather not be in my slacks, you know?"

"Then bring clothes for tomorrow too," he said, buckling his own seat belt. "That way you don't have to go back before work."

She glanced at him as she backed out of their slot. She had no issues staying over; his bed was certainly superior to hers. She loved her bed, and comfort was always at a premium, but she just couldn't afford a complete memory foam mattress or Egyptian cotton sheets. And his coffee was better than hers. The loft had creature comforts she didn't need, but certainly appreciated.

"Fine," she shrugged, ignoring his grin and the way he relaxed in his seat.

They drove back to her place in a calm silence, each lost in thought. She let her mind play through the morning she spent in his arms, laughing as he tried to keep her in bed. Monday had been a good day. And he'd been so very happy—nearly walking on air—all week long, making more jokes, positing more theories, lifting everyone into an absurdly good mood, even when it was midnight and they were out of leads.

It seemed a little ridiculous, that he could be so happy and they hadn't even had sex yet. At the same time, she felt like she couldn't really stop smiling. Everything was different, everything had changed, but really, really, it hadn't. They were still them. She was still driving. He was still drumming his fingers on the window sill. The sun was still setting on New York, like it did every other day.

She glanced over at him as they turned the corner onto her block. He was already watching her, lazy, content, and he smiled as she met his eyes.

"You should bring some more stuff too," he said, his voice soft.

"To your place?" She parked along the curb and turned the key before looking back at him, unsure of what she wanted from his answer. The butterflies in her stomach told her a different story from the independent voice at the back of her head.

"Just so you've got some clothes there," he said, reading her the way he should. "Not so I can keep you there for days."

She laughed quietly and gave him a small nod. Accept it and move forward—fighting, explaining, dissecting his request would do them no good. He just continued smiling, his hand finding the small of her back as they made their way into her building.

He launched into a small tirade about the molding in her elevator—how it looked old, a little questionable—and she nudged his shoulder, propelling him out of it and toward her door, refusing to engage. He was just teasing her now, since she'd paused at his suggestion of bringing over more clothing. Two could play at that game though, and as she left him in her living room so she could change and wipe the day from her face, she pondered the options of her lingerie drawer.

They hadn't had sex yet, but she had a feeling, in the way his fingers had caressed her back, the way his lips had lingered against hers for just that second longer, that perhaps this night would be the one. And so she slid into a lacier brassiere and matching panties, unashamed. She redid her hair in the mirror, standing there in nothing but her underwear, almost hoping he'd come in.

But she finished her hair, removed and reapplied lighter make up, shimmied into jeans and a low-cut sweater, and threw enough into a bag for a few days, both casual and precinct-acceptable, without her shadow's gaze. A bit miffed, because Rick Castle was hardly a man to pass up an opportunity, she wandered back into her living room in search of him, dropping the bag on the kitchen counter along her way.

When she met the coffee table, she stopped dead, staring at her partner, who stood ten feet away, arms crossed over his chest, feet apart, eyes combing over the open shutters that revealed her murder board. Her mother's murder board.

She let out a small sigh, feeling a weight settle in her chest, not for the case, but for him—for the tension in his jaw, for the slight white around the fingers he pressed into his arm. Slowly, she padded over to him, her socked feet quiet over the wood.

But he knew she was there. "Hi," he said very softly. He didn't turn to look at her.

And so she took up a stance beside him, bringing her back to a moment from their previous year together, when there'd still been a Josh, and a Captain, and so many things in the way—some that had morphed and shifted and held them even farther apart than either of the first two ever had.

She didn't want that tonight. She didn't want them to spend their time thinking over that time, worrying, letting past and present and future consume them in a tangled web like the one outlined on the window before them.

"Hey," she murmured, reaching up to lay her hand on his arm, thumb soothing across his skin where he'd rolled up his sleeves.

He blinked a few times and looked down to meet her eyes. "You ready?" he asked, and she watched as whatever it was dwindled in his eyes—whatever had him so stock still, so brooding.

She nodded and gently tugged him away from the window, urging his arms downward so she could take his hand. She grabbed her bag and ushered him back to the door, taking her own turn to help him into his jacket, to do up his buttons, to try and soothe the hurt that had stolen his smile.

"Come on. I'm hungry," she said as she slipped into a pair of flats, feeling underdressed and comfortable that way.

She turned back to find him now staring at her, his mouth set in a small smile, though it didn't quiet yet reach his eyes. "You know, you're short," he offered.

She laughed and shook her head as she leaned up to kiss his cheek, hoping that the affection she could give would soothe the reassurances she couldn't. And she'd take his jokes, his deflection; she owed him that much, for the years he'd taken hers.

"I thought you said I was tall," she tossed back as she slid down his body and reached for her jacket, allowing him to help her into it, his breath hot against her neck as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

"Very tall, but not as tall as me," he whispered, his strong chest pressing against her back.

She was glad he was taller than she was. She quite liked the feeling of him wrapped around her. And she smiled, guiding him out of her apartment, leaning into his body in the elevator, in the taxi, on the ride to his apartment; she took from him and gave back, giving him quiet but not physical space. He took her solace, but his mind was still far away.

When they made it inside, she watched him remove his jacket and she sighed quietly. She didn't have a good way to snap him out of it.

"Would you," he paused and looked over at her as she stood in his foyer in her socks, hair sprawling out over her shoulders. "Would you mind if I…wrote for a few minutes? I promise I'll be right out to get dinner started."

If writing would help him find his way back to his huge smile and the teasing caresses she'd enjoyed all day, she'd happily clean the entire loft.

"Go write. I'll call you when dinner's ready."

"You're sure?"

She smiled and ran her hand over his cheek. "I'm sure. You spent all day with me, I'll survive for forty minutes."

He frowned at her but nodded and she watched as he walked into his office, shutting the door behind him. As much as it was true that she certainly could survive without him, being in the loft without him was a strange experience. Even more so was cooking in his kitchen; breakfast was one thing, but preparing dinner for the two of them was domestic and intimate in a way she hadn't expected.

She didn't know how to make the pasta dish he'd brought to the precinct last week, so she settled on pancakes for dinner, figuring he'd appreciate it, and it might make him laugh. She was so unused to being the partner to bring out the laughter, the humor, the light. It was oddly settling, in some ways, to know that she needed to do that for him too, that she could do that for him too.

She was halfway through the batter when Martha bustled in, humming to herself as she dropped her bags and tossed her coat on the chair by the door. She sauntered into the kitchen and stopped short at the sight of Kate flipping pancakes.

"Kate," she exclaimed, smiling broadly. "Isn't this a pleasant surprise!"

"Hi, Martha," she said as the older woman came up to the counter. "Pancakes?"

"For dinner?"

Kate laughed. "Your son isn't in the greatest of moods, and I figured it might…cheer him up," she said honestly. "And I wasn't fully sure of where everything else was in your kitchen."

Martha stared at her for a moment. "You're a good woman, Kate Beckett," she decided before moving around her to pour herself a glass of water. "What has my son in a funk?"

Kate hesitated, unsure of how much Martha knew of her mother's case, of how much she should tell her. "The murder board at my place got him a little down," she offered, hedging her bets.

Martha nodded contemplatively as she rounded the counter. "Understandable, I suppose."

"Yeah," Kate said, knowing it was weak, but floundering for something better.

"He's been very happy lately, though," Martha continued, giving Kate a loaded look. "Extremely happy, if I had to give it something."

The light blushed that crept up her cheeks was embarrassing in it of itself, and she wasn't even going to go near the comment. Instead, she nodded along and poured another few pancakes into the pan.

"Where's Alexis tonight?" she asked. Martha's incredulous eyebrow told her that segue had been just as awkward out loud as it had seemed in her head.

"Out with friends. Her class was today, so it's basically her weekend now," Martha replied, seemingly giving her an out. "She was wondering when you'd be around next." Or not.

"We closed the case today," Kate cut in, before Martha could reveal anything else about Alexis, whether for her sake or the girl's she wasn't sure.

"Oh, and who dunnit?" she asked with real curiosity.

"The mortician," Kate said with a smile.

"Oh, I bet Richard loved that," Martha laughed.

Kate nodded. "Like a kid in a candy store."

The older woman took a seat across from her and Kate idly poked at a pancake for a moment. "He does very much enjoy his work with you."

Kate looked up, finding the well of honesty she'd been drawing from with Rick and Alexis. It seemed easier to reach each time—strange, how that worked. "We enjoy having him there—I enjoy having him there."

Martha smiled. "And have the two of you discussed things?"

If by things, she meant the confession Kate 'hadn't' heard for eight months, then yes. If not, Martha knew something she didn't. "We've talked," Kate said slowly.

Martha considered her for a long pause before nodding with a smile. "And you're happy?"

"Very," Kate said quietly.

"Then congratulations, Kiddo."

They both laughed a little, some unknown tension dissolving around them as they chatted over Martha's school and Kate's love of theatre. Talking with his mother was nice. She'd always enjoyed Martha, and they'd always gotten along rather well; she suspected Martha admired her ability to keep Rick in line, and Kate admired the older woman's flare for life. Martha glanced at the clock while Kate snorted into her hand, images of Rick dressed up as a little girl for a production of _Gypsy_ one summer swimming in her head. She'd have to save that one for the proper moment—blackmail material to be sure.

"I'm due at a donor's house for dinner in a few, but I hope the two of you enjoy yours, such as it is," Martha said with a wink.

Kate nodded, oddly sad to see the woman go. She'd been enjoying their chat. "Thank you. Have fun."

"Never a worry with my mother," Rick interjected, emerging from his office with a smile that was fuller and more authentic than the one he'd given her going in.

"You behave yourself, young man," Martha shot back, smiling and waving as she left the kitchen and made her way into the foyer, pointedly giving them space, despite the fact that they could see her, and she could most certainly hear them.

"Get much done?" Kate asked as she bent down to take the heating tray out of the oven, full of pancakes and bacon.

"I did. Is that pancakes?" he asked, some glee seeping back into his voice as she placed the tray on the stovetop and began laying pancakes out onto plates for them. The syrup and butter were already arranged on the counter by the stools.

Kate nodded and then shook her head as he grinned, eyes sparkling as he looked up to meet hers.

"You made me pancakes!"

She laughed and handed him a plate before walking around to sit down next his stool as he moved to get them two glasses of water. "I figured you'd like them."

"I can't believe you made me pancakes," he said as he sat and scooted closer, so that his thigh was pulled flush with hers. She watched as he added butter and a liberal dose of syrup before he cut in and took a bite, moaning without shame. "Damn good pancakes," he mumbled around a full mouth.

She smiled and added some syrup to hers as well, taking a bite. They were pretty good. She really needed to keep more raw ingredients at her place. She hadn't had the makings for real pancakes in a while. She reached out and snagged a piece of bacon from the plate by the burners and Castle gasped.

"And bacon?"

"Castle, I made us brinner; it's not a big deal." He turned to look at her, incredulous. "It's not."

He considered her for a moment, tugging a piece of bacon between his teeth and chewing thoughtfully before he let the bacon drop to his plate and tossed his arm around her shoulders.

"Best girlfriend ever."

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><p><strong>Author's Note: Sorry about the delay. Ffnet decided to hate us all.<strong>


	11. Chapter 11

**Title: Partners**

**Disclaimer: I hope I can stay awake this late when I'm writing on a show someday.**

**Summary: Walls fall down; that's the nature of the beast. And no matter how Kate looks at it, she's staring at piles of rubble. And from rubble, where do they go next? Slight spoilers for 4x11 and beyond.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 11:<strong>

He had so many books. The shelves and rows and stacks—too many wonderful options to keep track of—were dizzying as she wandered the office, her bare feet slapping quietly against the wooden floor. She skimmed her hand along a long row of hard-covers, mostly classics, and smiled as a light snore sounded from the open door to his bedroom.

In a fit of anti-climactic action, they'd fallen asleep talking, too busy swapping childhood stories to bother undressing each other to leave his bedroom in a state of passion-induced disarray. The long case caught up with them, and Kate had awoken at 3am, disconcerted, with a fuzzy taste in her mouth.

She'd slid from the bed to brush her teeth and use his bathroom before slipping into a pair of his boxers and a dress shirt left on the hook in the bathroom. She hadn't the heart to wake him, but she was wide awake, her sleep cycle disrupted by the case and his apartment and the feel of him pressed up against her. So she fled to the office, intent on finding something to read to lull her back to sleep.

She turned to the desk, smiling at the strange collection of pages and encyclopedias, medical dictionaries and random reference books that scattered the surface. He had options, more acceptable, bed-time-story options, but she thought it might be fun to be able to whip out some random facts germane to whatever his next case was shaping up to be. She'd never tell him, but she planned her moments of geekiness, just to see his eyes light up.

With that in mind, she reached out for "Forensic Neuropsychology," but misjudged her distance, stumbling forward and into his chair, clumsy in the haze of early morning.

Her hand flew to the desk to steady herself and she felt her palm depressing a button on a small black remote. There was a click behind her and she heard the faint whir of electronics coming to life. She turned, setting the remote down on the desk as she stared at his smart-board, lit up for her to explore.

She glanced back to his bedroom and felt a twinge of guilt for the overwhelming urge to snoop. But he did it all the time, and he couldn't be that far into the next book, anyway. Her better impulses firmly pushed aside, she walked up to the black screen, the little green button in the corner telling her that the window to his mind waited only for her touch.

She pulled a lip between her teeth, suppressing a self-deprecating smile for the fangirl that she was. She reached out and tapped the middle of the large screen, the way she'd seen him do many times before.

It flared to life and she felt her entire body coil and then release as she stumbled backward. Her face. Her face, and her life, and her captain, and her mother, and the mayor, and Lockwood, and McAlister, and Raglan, and Pulgatti—all of the names, everything, everyone was there. There, with paragraphs and lines and questions.

He had his own murder board.

He hadn't come into the office to write. He'd come in to add what he'd seen at her apartment to his own collection—the case he'd forced her into stepping back from—her life.

She couldn't move. She couldn't breathe. She could only stare, her mind going a mile a minute, snapping back, pushing forward, snatches of cemeteries and hangars and hospitals and offices spinning until all she could feel was the wound between her breasts.

She took a gasping breath and balled her fists against her sides, trying vainly to find enough semblance of calm to make a decision. She could wake him. She could hit him. Her gun was at home, so she couldn't shoot him.

She could confront him, or she could leave. She could throw on her clothes and get the hell out before he woke up. And she could be long gone before he ever figured it out. She could talk to Gates. She could get him removed from every facet of her life.

She hunched as she took another gasping breath, the scar pulling tightly against her sternum. She didn't want him gone, but she wanted to kill him. She didn't want to run away but she wanted to scream and cry and rail and rage until he was a pulverized mess—until he hurt like she did inside. Until he felt the same piercing, ripping pain, of love torn through by trust and broken trust and hearts and bullets and books.

She stumbled into the bedroom, tearing his clothes from her body as she gathered her own, roughly pulling on her jeans and shirt while trying to stem the breaths that had become sobs. He lay on his stomach, mouth open, still in yesterday's clothes. She wiped at her cheeks, streaked with angry, broken tears, as she stood at the foot of the bed, her feet cold against his floor.

She couldn't find her socks.

But the door—that, she found. The elevator too. The street and her car and the blurry outline of the traffic lights—everything swirled around her. She probably shouldn't have driven back, but what option did she have?

She closed the door to her apartment with shaking hands. She reached into her pocket only to find that she didn't have her phone. Another sob escaped and she slid against the door, the bumps in the metal bruising her back on the way down.

She hit the floor, a strangled, "No," escaping as she pulled herself into a ball.

Nothing stuck. Everything whirled. Everything tilted. Everything was painful and hurtful and brave and stupid and idiotic. How could he put himself in danger like that? How could he go behind her back and toy with her life like that? How could he? How could he?

She had no idea how long she sat there, staring at her knees, at her empty, dim apartment, at the floor, at the backs of her eyelids. She couldn't decide how to feel, other than torn open.

There was anger, yes, but the hurt and the blinding pain overruled it. And the pain wasn't just him. It was everything. It was her life, crumbling in pieces all around her. It was the life that had sucked and innocent man with a beautiful daughter and a mother of his own into her dark wormhole. An innocent, wonderful man who'd taken on a burden he should never have born—her burden, her fight, her life.

"Kate!"

She startled as a bang rattled the door at her back, his voice a boom to her stuffed, plugged head.

"Kate! I know you're in there."

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. He banged again and she cringed, from shock, and fear, and pain. Her body twitched, and it was just another log on the fire that her PTSD would act up now. It was only Castle, for God's sake.

But it was only Castle, and as she scrambled up to stand opposite the door, she found herself paralyzed.

It was Castle. It was Rick. It was the man she—her everything. Her everything that had driven a knife in her back while trying to keep a bullet from her chest. She didn't know what to do.

"Kate," he begged, his voice a hoarse shout, his pounding fist relentless.

The neighbors would wake up soon, and wonder, and he wouldn't leave. He'd get the damn super, because it was what he was, who he was.

And so she opened the door, because somewhere along the way, she'd stopped being able to say no. But she wanted to. She wanted to say no. Say never. Say leave, and go, and I hate you, and I love you, and how could you.

Instead, she watched him latch the door with trembling fingers, her own chest rising and falling in time with his.

"Kate," he rasped out, his face stricken and pallid and tight. They stared at each other. "You forgot your phone."

She blinked, mouth opening to gape wordlessly at him as he extended the device for her. _You forgot your phone_?

She snatched it from his hand and shoved it angrily into her back pocket. "Forgot my phone? And you came all the way here, banging on my door like a crazy person, to tell me I forgot my freaking phone?" she bit out, venom dripping over every word.

His face hardened and he advanced on her as she stepped back, leading them into her foyer and out of the doorway.

"I came here to explain," he said, eyes piercing hers. She wouldn't look away.

"Explain what? That you've been playing Detective while keeping me in the dark? Or that you said no more secrets? Or that you're an idiot tampering in things that will get you killed?"

"That will get you killed!" he thrust back, his voice ringing around the room, matching the fading echo of hers. "You think I'm doing this for fun? For power? Some crazy scheme because I'm Castle, right? So I can't think anything through."

"Shut up," she snarled, one hand reaching back to steady herself against the counter, adrenaline and panic and oxygen tugging her down.

"No you shut up," he growled, walking forward to stand a foot from her, their faces thrust into shadows from the single lamp lit in her living room. "I get a call telling me that if you don't stop, they'll kill you, and Evelyn and Roy's family too." It was a punch to her gut, but he didn't let her recover. "This guy tells me I gotta stop you. So I do."

"You should have told me," she hissed. "I have the resources to track your mystery man. You had no right to keep this from me!"

"Keeping it from you kept you alive." His face was hard, impassive, and she felt her scar twinge at his words, a flash of his face from the cemetery flitting through her mind.

"And if it got you killed in the process, or your daughter? Did you even think of that, Castle? That you could have gotten us all killed, and your family too? Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?"

His eyes sparked and a look of fury she'd never seen before fell over his face. "Of course I do. I'm the one who's been investigating for months."

"Investigating," she sneered, far beyond seeing reason—she'd progressed to seeing red. "Is that what you call blundering through the system? Is that what you call leaving me and my team in the dark? Lying to me?"

"You wanna talk about lying?" he snapped back, eyes glinting, hands balled at his sides while hers curled onto the counter behind her. "How about forgetting to tell me that you remembered from the moment you woke up?"

"Is that what you call a clean board?" She felt something break in her chest, her trust, her love, all of the beautiful things and promises and dreams of life she'd concocted on yet another lie.

"You think it's easy to look at you and know that you didn't trust me enough to tell me?"

"Trust?" she laughed, a hollow sound that chilled her to the core as words fell from her lips, half-meditated, all hurt. "You've proven well enough that I shouldn't have any of that in you."

He stumbled back, his face a mix of rage and heartbreak. He swallowed a few times and somewhere in the distant reaches of her brain, she recognized a flag going down. She just didn't know whose it was.

"Trust or no, I'm protecting you," he said, his voice a fierce growl.

"And how do you know?" she cried, reaching up angrily to scrub at her eye where tears and anger made the world hazy. "How do you know that you're not just bringing the dragon down on us?"

"Because I know!"

"How do you know?" she yelled, arms releasing the counter so she could step forward, feet unsteady beneath her, but unable to stay still any longer. "How can I trust you to do this when you haven't even told me? Hell, Castle, I'm the one with the freaking gun! You're not the one who can solve this. This is my fight. Mine! The cop. You're just a man," she raged, eyes sliding shut as she brought her hands up to run through her hair as she breathed heavily. "You can't do this."

She registered the movement after the bang of the door.

Empty. Her apartment was empty. Empty of feeling, and love, and him.

She stood still for a long time, staring at the door. Staring at the place where her dreams had slammed it shut, where her demons had won, where she'd pushed so hard that he finally walked away. She hadn't ordered him out, hadn't said they were done, hadn't made him leave. He'd walked away on his own.

She swiveled to look at her apartment, an empty, hollow place, with a murder board for windows and a solitude for love.

Her feet moved before her mind. Her hands wrenched the door open, her heart leading her body in place of her head. Her mouth opened for words she couldn't recover. Her feet hit something solid. And then she fell.

Her forearm broke her fall, a spear of blinding pain shooting up to her shoulder at the impact as she gasped. She tried to right her body, but couldn't, her legs tangled with another pair while large hands tried to help her recover her balance.

"What—the hell—Castle," she managed around groans and gasps as the splintered shards of white-hot pain licked up her arm.

He sat against the wall beside her door, legs spread out before him, now tangled with hers. "Says the lady who tripped over me," he offered, voice a mixture of control, concern, anger, and disbelief.

"Broken arm, don't be cute," she hissed, cradling her left arm to her chest as they righted their legs.

She caught the faintest hint of a smile on his face before she closed her eyes against tears. She'd survived a bullet, and that had been the most painful experience of her life. But this—this came a close second.

"Come on," he said, his voice gentle, but with an edge of steel that reminded her that, injury or no, he'd left her.

Though, with his arms around her body, warm, large frame cradling hers as they took a cab to the hospital, it certainly didn't feel like he'd left. But some part of him had, because the man silent beside her in the ER was not Richard Castle.

But maybe she wasn't quite Kate Beckett either.

"Beckett?" a nurse called out.

"Here," they answered in tandem.


	12. Chapter 12

**Title: Partners**

**Disclaimer: I have set fic writing days, and not because I'm busy writing for a show on the off days.**

**Summary: Walls fall down; that's the nature of the beast. And no matter how Kate looks at it, she's staring at piles of rubble. And from rubble, where do they go next? Slight spoilers for 4x11 and beyond.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 12:<strong>

He knew her medical information better than she did. Blood type, medications, familial diseases, allergies—it poured from his mouth as he answered question after question. She would have marveled at it if she wasn't still stinging from their fight, and if she could think of anything beyond the pain in her arm and the dull ache in her head. They said the ibuprofen should kick in within ten minutes, and they'd have her fracture set in an hour.

Then they were alone. He sat stiffly in a chair against the wall and she was propped up in the bed, her arm in a sling, the white, sterile floor and a host of machines stretching out between them.

"You don't have to stay," fell from her lips before she could stop it.

His head jerked up and dull blue eyes met hazel. He stared at her, but she couldn't get a read off of his expression. He wasn't pleased with her, at any rate.

"Someone needs to take you home," he said, his voice tight.

"I can take a cab."

"Do you want me to leave?" His tone was challenging, like her answer might not even matter either way.

She couldn't imagine that he'd actually leave her alone at the hospital. But she hadn't expected him to leave her apartment either. "You were leaving earlier," she said, neither accusatory nor understanding. She was just tired. Tired of all of it.

"If you'll recall, I didn't leave. I was sitting outside your apartment."

"Right," she nodded, feeling the fight pulling back in, drawing her closer. She'd left the apartment without a game plan, and now they were stuck in a small room together; police training told her it was a breeding ground for disaster. "How long were you planning on staying out there?"

"I don't know," he replied, staring her down. "But I'm just a man. So probably not that long."

She sucked in a breath and straightened her back, hissing as the movement jostled her arm. His face slackened and he shifted in his seat, forcing himself to stay away.

"Your manhood was never in question," she bit out, harsher than expected, but she couldn't control the reaction to pain as it ripped up her arm, roughing her vocal chords in its wake.

"Just my competence," he fired back.

Kate glared at him. "In single-handedly solving a conspiracy that's bigger than the NYPD? Yeah, Castle. I question that," she said, wishing she had both hands to anchor into the stiff white blanket over her lap—wanting something to hold onto, because there were too many emotions threatening to swirl her out to sea.

"Well it's that or watch you bleed out," he snarled, standing suddenly. She flinched, shocked by the move, and too jumpy by far to be having this conversation. "I'm looking at you in a hospital bed now. I don't want to do it again."

She closed her eyes, struggling for something to say. She couldn't ever hope to promise to never get shot again. She didn't owe him any promises at all. She didn't owe him anything. But as she opened her eyes and met his, clouded with hurt and worry and anger, she realized she was far beyond owing. They'd graduated from debt a long time ago. Ownership had taken its place, but she couldn't figure out when.

"I'm not asking you to," she decided, blowing it out on a labored breath as she shifted, trying to find a comfortable position.

"Asking me to stop looking is asking me to put a target on your back," he argued, taking a step toward her.

"Not telling me is putting a target on my back. How am I supposed to protect myself from something I don't know about?" she demanded.

He sucked in a breath. "No, Kate. Not knowing keeps you safe."

"Bull shit."

He growled. He actually growled. "You wanna tell me what it's like to watch you bleed out? What it's like to spend the entire summer wondering if you're alive, if someone's breathing down your neck, if I'm ever going to see you again? Get off your high horse and take a second to really think about it."

She watched his eyes grow wider, breaths coming in shorter spurts, eyes alight with so much repressed anger and hurt that she couldn't fathom how she'd missed it for so long.

"Just because you're scared doesn't mean you can box it up and push me out like it doesn't exist."

He went still, staring at her. A deep, rasping chuckle rose from his chest and she cringed. She couldn't remember hearing anything more chilling.

"That's rich from the women with a wall the size of China."

He'd taken off his gloves and replaced them with brass knuckles, socked her in the gut, gone for her chest, punched through until she could feel that phantom injury in her heart. "Shut up," she murmured, winded.

"How about asking me to put our relationship aside until you solved the case? It takes a hell of a lot of cardboard to box up four years."

"Is that what it was? You solve it first, you get the girl?" she bit out, energy renewed, letting her own heartless laugh ring around the room.

He stepped back, stumbled back, mouth falling open slightly, wounded. It didn't ring victory through the room, didn't lift her spirits, didn't even the scales. It just hurt—hurt them both.

"What's the use in getting the girl if she's gonna go get herself killed?" he managed. "What's the use in getting the girl if someone's going to pop out of the woodwork to shoot her down, and take you out with her? Do you actually think I'd risk your life just to get into your bed?"

"So it's better to risk your life to get into my bed?" she snapped. "You can't imagine seeing me in a hospital again? I can't come close your eyes and tell your daughter you're dead! I can't do that, Castle. I can't," she continued until her voice was soft and aching with the cold rush of reality crashing over them.

"I'm not trying to get into your bed," he clarified, still standing five feet from her, hands at his side, slumped. "I'm trying to make sure you make it back to your bed every night, whether or not I'm in it."

She opened her mouth, searching for a response, but a doctor bustled in. Then pain and discomfort and plaster took up residence, forcing her from their fight, forcing her heart rate down, her anger out.

He watched from the chair, hands twisting in his lap. The doctor was silent, and in a matter of minutes, she was sporting a bright white cast that came up to the base of her elbow. She was no longer in pain, but she could barely move her hand.

"Did she get a concussion test?" the doctor finally asked, turning to Castle, who shook his head.

"Why?" he asked, before Kate could even get a word in.

"Dilated pupils, glassy eyes, and there's a lump on her forehead," he said.

"I feel fine," Kate protested as the attending, Dr. Mason, maybe, pulled out a flashlight.

She sighed and tracked the light, following his instructions, wincing as he pressed at the lump at her temple. That explained the headache, at any rate. She couldn't remember bumping her head in the fall. Probably wasn't the best sign, really.

"I want to keep you overnight," he said as he clicked off the light and leaned back, bracing a hand on the retractable arm of her bed. "We gave you ibuprofen, but once that wears off, we'll want to keep an eye on your head. You'll need to be woken every two hours as well."

"Please let me go home," she begged immediately. Weeks in the hospital over the summer had hardened her to a few hours, but the night—she wasn't sure she could handle that. Not with everything else pressing down on her as well.

"I'm sorry," Dr. Mason said, standing and walking to the end of her bed to mark something on her chart. He gave Castle a small smile and slipped from the room.

Kate stared after him. She couldn't spend the night here. Not now. Not with Castle looking at her like that—like she might just disappear. Not with the shadow of her mother's case and a broken heart, and the slump of his shoulders, and the way he cradled his head in his hands.

"I know you don't feel like I deserve it right now, but could you do me a favor please stop getting hospitalized?" he mumbled from between his fingers. "I really can't do this again."

She stared at him and sighed, waiting until he lifted his eyes to meet hers. "Not too fond of it myself," she admitted.

He nodded slowly. "I don't want to keep fighting about this."

"About me being in the hospital? Not much of a fight if I'm already here," she said immediately. If she still had the energy, she'd laugh at the look on his face, a cross between amusement and shock that she'd joke after that fight.

"About the murder board," he clarified, though she could see that it cost him.

"I need you to share it with me, so I can protect you while you're protecting me," she said, her voice strangely even, her mind oddly at peace. Equilibrium found in a haze of bandages and exhaustion.

"I," he swallowed. "I can't." She was so tired. "Even if it means that's it, and you walk away from us, I can't bring you into it."

"Rick," she protested.

"I bring you in, they get wind, and you die. And all the beds and breakfasts and late nights can't be worth it, Kate."

"We're never going to see eye to eye on it, you know," she said, closing her eyes for a moment. "I'm always going to want to solve it, and you're kind of in the way."

"And I can't tell you, because if you run headlong into it, they'll kill you, and apparently I value your life more than you do."

Her eyes popped open at that. "I don't have a death wish, Castle," she bristled.

He waved her off. "We're not going to see eye to eye on it."

They sat in silence for a long time, staring at each other and around the sterile room. The cast was heavy on her arm and her head was a dead weight on her neck. The throb at her temple kept getting stronger. It was nothing like being shot, but the pull of painful sleep was there, setting her on edge.

"If I don't investigate, you don't either," she said, meeting his eyes. Dreaming dreams of bombs and bullets wouldn't compare to the reality of him six-feet under. She would walk a living nightmare for the rest of her life, and that just wasn't an option.

"Kate."

"Solves both problems, doesn't it?" she continued, trying to keep her voice light. She needed detente. "You can't root around in danger, I don't die, and I never have to look your kid in the eye and tell her you got killed for me. It's not like you've gotten any big breaks recently."

He chuckled, and it was the closest to him he'd sounded all night. "You would take time to really look at it before running away."

So maybe they weren't fully done pulling punches. But he was looking at her, like it was something, even in this, that he admired—loved—about her. She shrugged and then groaned.

"Takes time to peruse murder board while trying not to kill her boyfriend, but can't remember that she's got a broken arm," he said, shaking his head at her.

"Boyfriend," she repeated, bringing her head back up to look at him. She hadn't minded when he'd called her his girlfriend, but she couldn't consider him her boyfriend; it wasn't enough.

He blinked at her. "Yes?"

"Partner," she corrected, and his eyes shuttered, closing over. "Not like that, you idiot," she sighed.

He stood and walked to her, frowning as she shifted, offering him space. "Stay put," he said softly.

"If I'm stuck here, you're stuck here," she said.

"Partners, huh?" he said, smiling for the first time all night.

"Boyfriend makes us sound like we're 20, and no boyfriend of mine would be dumb enough to risk my wrath."

"No, and no girlfriend of mine would be so stubborn."

They stared each other down for a long pause before he leaned in and found her lips with his. He braced himself above her, leaning across the bed while she wrapped her good arm around his neck, her left caught between their bodies.

She didn't think their first time together would be make-up sex, and she certainly hadn't expected it to be in a small hospital bed. But with his lips hot on hers and one of his hands slipping beneath her shirt, she found that she couldn't really care.

Their issues weren't resolved, but they were out in the open. And concussed and broken wasn't the best time to sit down and be rational. Maybe in the light of day, naked in this hospital bed, she'd see clearly. But her mind caught on naked and then she was clumsily trying to pull his shirt off with one hand while trying to ensure that he didn't fall on her broken arm.

They were desperate and needy, trying to repair broken-mended trust with enduring love and partnership; and for two people so adept with words, the physical seemed so much simpler, so much clearer.

A cough sounded in the doorway and Castle reluctantly pulled away from her, releasing her lips with a small smack. Their eyes met as they breathed against each other's lips, their foreheads pressed together.

"Feeling 20 yet?" he whispered.


	13. Chapter 13

**Title: Partners**

**Disclaimer: It doesn't snow, rain, and shine in the span of an hour in LA.**

**Summary: Walls fall down; that's the nature of the beast. And no matter how Kate looks at it, she's staring at piles of rubble. And from rubble, where do they go next? Slight spoilers for 4x11 and beyond.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 13:<strong>

They sat side by side and stared as the door slammed, rattling the cheap picture of a sailboat by the edge of the retractable curtain. Rick's hair was a mess, and hers was no better. His shirt was still askew on his chest and it was with a tired hand that he reached down and straightened it, leaning his head back against the wall with a long-suffering sigh.

"Man, I haven't been reamed like that in a while."

Kate huffed out a laugh. "I think I'm insulted."

"Oh, you're plenty scary, and vicious when you want to be," he corrected, cracking an eye to give her a look. It seemed a bit ridiculous that they were joking about a fight they'd been having not twenty minutes earlier. But really, how else could they react? "But you don't have the power to eject me from this room, or sedate yourself."

"I can't believe she even suggested it."

He laughed, nudging her leg with his. "I mean, we were kind of breaking protocol."

"Says the man who routinely jumps out of my police cruiser even when told to stay put," she argued, hiding her smile as his fingers wound through hers.

"Hey, I haven't blindly run into danger on the job in a while."

"No, you haven't," she conceded. "Not on the job," popped out without her consent and he deflated next to her. "Sorry."

He shook his head and squeezed her hand, regarding her with tired eyes. "No more tonight?"

"Okay," she whispered, inhaling him as she let her head fall to rest on his shoulder, letting his scent fill her up, in place of the sterile room that left her nerves on edge. "You think they'll kick you out?"

"Beckett, when have I been kicked out of anywhere? Even you can't get rid of me."

She let out a slow breath against his shoulder and he turned and kissed her forehead. They sucked at letting things go, both of them. Their fight proved that. But they were there, together, so she'd let it slide, Beckett and all.

"Gonna exercise your charm?"

"Worked on Gates," he said, grinning into her hair.

"Gates didn't catch you ravishing a patient."

He laughed, full and bright and she finally relaxed. His lips fluttered over her forehead and his fingers trailed along her left shoulder, warm against her chilled skin. Long-sleeved hospital gowns would be nice, for once. She was constantly cold over the summer, and the reminder of those long weeks didn't help her nerves.

"I don't know that I consider what we got to ravishing," he decided, his voice soft against her temple. "If you'd gotten my shirt off, maybe."

"Yeah, because finding you half-naked would have really sold our case." It wasn't an unappealing image though, and she found herself biting her lip and closing her eyes against the desire to resume the very activities that had gotten them into trouble.

"You never know. Maybe she would have appreciated my physique," he argued.

"The only person appreciating your physique is me," she said immediately, sighing as she felt his grin widen. "Don't be smug."

"Oh, come on!"

"I like a man with a little grace."

He laughed and nuzzled against her until he found her lips with his, dragging her into a soothing kiss. She marveled at his control. She wanted to change it, to clamber over him, straddle him, let their bodies work out the wearing adrenaline that still coursed around them. She wanted to get rid of the fight and the worry, bury it in his body and his breath.

"I suppose, since you're in a hospital bed, I can be graceful," he decided as they pulled apart and he shifted, sliding around her to cradle her back against his chest, between his legs.

He wasn't as comfortable as the pillows, but he was a source of warmth, and the hands he soothed over her stomach, gently supporting her arm, were infinitely better than the scratch of the rough cotton sheets.

She hummed, suddenly exhausted, her eyelids drooping even as she blinked them awake. She didn't want to fall asleep. Hospital nightmares were the worst, and she knew that she'd manage to hit the absolute bottom of one just before they had to wake her up to check her.

He ran a gentle hand down her right arm and leaned his head over her shoulder. "Tired?"

She shook her head. "No."

"Liar," he mumbled as he kissed her cheek. "You should sleep. It's, man," he paused and craned around, finally spotting the clock along the far wall. "It's nearly six am, and you know they'll keep you here into the afternoon."

"Any way you can finagle us a laptop with netflix?" she asked, leaning back into him, giving in to the exhaustion and pervasive ache that seemed to spread all over her body.

"Are you asking me to misuse my wealth?" he gasped with a grin she could feel against her cheek.

"Maybe," she whispered, finally losing the battle with her eyes as they slipped shut.

He laughed quietly against her cheek and she felt him settling back behind her, tugging her closer to snuggle her up against him. "When Alexis wakes up, I'll call her to see if she or mother can bring us stuff to do."

She nodded sluggishly against him, the throb at her temple protesting every single movement. She felt his breath as it ghosted over her cheek, his soft, "I love you," tickling her ear as sleep pulled her under.

(…)

"Ever thought that she might want other people to sign that?"

Kate blinked, squinting in the bright light that assaulted her eyes as she struggled to sit up. Rick was still behind her, his chest rumbling as he laughed at something his daughter said. She could just make out Alexis' hazy outline.

"Shouldn' you be…school?" she managed out, her mouth heavy and fuzzy with cotton as she fought with the light and sudden rush of sound.

Alexis smiled and took a step closer, bringing herself into focus. "I don't have class today," she said. "Heard you took a spill?"

Kate nodded and then groaned. "Head?" Rick asked, rubbing her arm.

"Yeah."

"Want me to get a nurse? I think Dad has a few more lines to go there," Alexis suggested.

"No, I'm okay," Kate decided. As long as she didn't jar her head, she should be fine. Her arm no longer hurt, at any rate. "What time is it?"

She squinted at the clock and the hands came into view just as Alexis said, "Ten."

"Did you wake me?" Kate asked, tapping Rick's fingers with the exposed ones from her left arm.

"Of course," he huffed, affronted. "The doc even came in and had you follow the light again. But you passed out pretty quick both times."

"Concussions suck," she admitted, watching as Alexis smiled at them.

"I brought the Ipad and some cards, but the doctors say you'll probably want to stick to watching stuff for a few days."

"Work," Kate protested, trying vainly to get herself together.

"Not for the next week. Gates doesn't want you back until your arm's out of the cast anyway, and the doctor says you shouldn't be doing any heavy cognitive stuff for a few days."

"What?" She felt dumb, silly, confused, and somewhere beneath it, she was peeved, but she couldn't quite reach for it.

"The more you tax your brain, the longer it'll take to get over the concussion," Alexis supplied. "I have to go meet Paige to work on a project, but I'll see you at home."

"Thanks, Pumpkin," Rick said easily, as Kate raised her right hand in a small wave. "See you tonight. I'll make something good."

"Okay," Alexis said, smiling. "Feel better, Kate."

"Thanks," she mumbled, watching as the girl left in a blur of red hair. "No work? But I'm fine," she argued, shifting up against his chest.

"She might let you back to do paperwork at the end of the weekend, but until then, you're not going to want to do anything," he said softly, smoothly, like he could just erase her irritation.

"That's not true," she asserted as she glanced around the room. "What did you do to my arm?"

The once-white cast was now awash with silver in neat lines. She squinted, bringing the arm up to her eyes. Words. Her cast was covered with words. Hundreds of them. A page's worth at least flowed over the fiberglass in Rick's tidy scrawl.

"I got bored," he replied, his chin resting on her shoulder.

"So you wrote," she paused and peered at the words, making out 'Nikki,' and 'Rook,' even as her eyes and head protested. "You wrote a chapter of Nikki Heat on my cast?"

He nodded, his chin bumping her shoulder. "Want me to read it to you?"

"I can read it," she said defensively, forcing her brain to work through the words for a few minutes before she realized she didn't remember a single line of what she'd read. The throbbing at her temple was more persistent and she felt herself give a small noise of displeasure.

"Here," he said gently, scooting out from behind her.

She had to fight to stay silent as words of protest tried to slip from her lips. She liked being curled up against him. Though, the way he moved, so he was beside her, an arm over her shoulders and a leg over hers wasn't unpleasant.

He shifted her arm into his lap and then bent forward, throwing her a smile before he opened his mouth and began to read the chapter he'd written on her cast. She listened, smiling as Nikki and Rook ended up in an eerily similar situation to the one they sat in. Except in his version, Rook was the one with the busted arm, and Nikki was the one who climbed into his bed.

"Richard Castle, you did not write porn on my cast," she exclaimed as he reached, _And then Nikki slid her shirt from her shoulders, leaning down to press her chest to Rook's, smiling a devious smile as she whispered, "Let's see if we can get that heart monitor going."_

Rick glanced over at her, sheepish and amused at once. "I might have?"

"How much more is there?" she demanded.

"Alexis came in before I could get any further," he said, pouting.

"Good," she grumbled. "And you're covering this up when we get out. I'm not walking into work with Nookie on my arm."

She realized her mistake a moment too late. "You know about Nookie?"

"No," she said immediately. His eyes were far too wide and excited for her liking.

"You know about the shipper name for Nikki and Rook? Oh my God, Beckett, do you read Nookie smut?"

Concussed and injured, she still managed to get her right hand up to his ear with enough force have him calling, "Apples!"

"First off, I do not now, nor have I ever, read Nookie smut. I'm a little horrified that you know it exists."

"You do," he mumbled, shying away as she reached for his ear again.

"I keep tabs on you for work," she defended. "I need to be on top of your sprawling career so I can refute claims made by assholes in the box."

And if she'd found a few fan sites and did some rather unnecessary follow up after discovering 'Nookie,' and the world it entailed, well, he didn't need to know about it.

"Whatever you say," he said, suppressing what she was sure would have been a shit eating grin.

"Shut up," she groused.

"No, I'm flattered," he continued. "You like my work."

She turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow. Oh, bad move. That hurt. "You knew that."

"Yes, but reading my book in the tub is different from searching the fan sites," he said, smug and cocky even as he gently smoothed his hand over her neck, releasing tension she hadn't realized she was holding in her shoulders. "You're a fangirl."

"I will sign myself out and leave you here," she threatened.

He simply smiled and leaned down to press his lips to her cheek. "Fine. Keep your secret."

She blinked and felt him draw in a breath against her skin. "Sometime, remind me to tell you about the first time we actually met," she said softly, closing her eyes as his hand tightened around her shoulders. She just wanted to forget the past 24 hours had even happened.

He paused for a moment, collecting himself, she figured, and then she felt his lips curving upward. "I'm sorry. Could you repeat that? Have you been holding out on me?"

Kate laughed and turned to meet his eyes. "If you're really nice to me, and stop Becketting me while I'm in a hospital bed with a concussion and I can't even read, maybe I'll tell you."

"Becketting you?" he asked, glee all over his face.

"No, no, teasing. I meant teasing."

"I'm so using that!"

She glared at him. "No you're not."

"Oh, I so am."


	14. Chapter 14

**Title: Partners**

**Disclaimer: I get to go home for Spring Break tomorrow, but we don't call that hiatus, really. **

**Summary: Walls fall down; that's the nature of the beast. And no matter how Kate looks at it, she's staring at piles of rubble. And from rubble, where do they go next? Slight spoilers for 4x11 and beyond. COMPLETE.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 14:<strong>

"You didn't need to bring the projector in here," she said, watching as he draped a sheet over the door to the bathroom, pinning it up to the wall on either side. "And it's going to be hard to get to the bathroom now."

"I'll take it down when we go to sleep," he said easily, stepping back to admire his handiwork. "You'll be more comfortable in here."

"I don't have to be bedridden," she argued, even as she sank into the plush pillows, her arm happily elevated on a pillow, now covered in two layers of Nikki Heat, the second, red set far less racy than the first, though she could still see a hint of Nookie shining through.

He turned to consider her, collapsed as she was in his bed, hair disheveled, arm in plaster, eyes heavily lidded. The spot on her temple throbbed lightly, even beneath the medication and she was sure it was a wonderful collage of purples at this point.

"No, but you look comfy." He walked around to settle on her other side, gently moving over so his body was flush with hers. "Okay?"

With no fight left in her, and too comfortable to continue protesting, she nodded and let her head fall to his shoulder as he clicked the remote, bringing the projector to life. They had a full-wall television in the bedroom, and unnecessary as it was, she had to admit, it was pretty good.

"Movie?" he asked, his breath warm over her bruised skin.

"Sure," she mumbled, blinking against sudden exhaustion. She hated concussions with a passion. She just didn't feel like herself at all, and only managed to watch ten minutes of Star Wars before she nodded off.

When she woke, it was dark. She turned her head slowly to the side and found him asleep next to her, shirtless, his face smashed into the pillow. She smiled and reached out to run her fingers through his hair. He snuffled in his sleep and rolled toward her, curling a hand over her thigh.

She was lying down as well, and wearing pajamas that she didn't remember changing into—one of his large tee shirts and what felt like a pair of his boxers. Her left arm was curled into her chest as she lay on her back and she was glad to notice that it was no longer sore. Her head, on the other hand, pounded as she shifted and she clenched her eyes shut.

After a few fruitless minutes of willing the pain away, she realized she needed more meds. She slowly turned to glance at the clock, sighing as it blinked a solid, "2:00am" back at her. Apparently her system no longer recognized reasonable hours.

Carefully, she moved away from him and sat up, repressing the groan that tried to escape. Everything was heavy and the world seemed wobbly as she stood, though it was probably her legs. She clutched at the nightstand and took a tentative step forward. When she was sure she wouldn't collapse, she softly padded out through the office and into the kitchen.

She blinked in the dim light and shuffled over, reaching up to find the Advil in the medicine cabinet. She found a glass next, and then poured herself water from the tap, insecure in her ability to successfully remove the pitcher from the refrigerator without hurting herself or his appliances.

The pills were more challenging. She struggled to open the safety lock one-handed, finally resorting to pressing the damn thing against her hip and twisting the top off with her right hand. She was going to be hell to live with. The inability would get old, fast, and she could tell she'd be a grumpy mess as soon as she had the energy.

She swallowed the pills and sagged against the counter, staring out at the apartment, which looked just like it had the previous night. She sighed, realizing that it had been less than 24 hours since she'd found the murder board, run away, shouted, watched him leave, chased after him, and ended up in the hospital. The thought made her dizzy.

She figured it might be the concussion too, so she began to make her way back to the bedroom but found herself pulled instead to the smart board. She stood in front of it in the dark of the office, her feet washed in the soft light that fell through the window.

She glanced into the bedroom and smiled at the sight of him still passed out, mouth open against his pillow, his hand now clenched into her empty spot of sheets. Her eyes fell back to the board and she felt herself sag. She stumbled back and curled up on the couch, knees pulled up to her chest as she rested her chin on her right forearm, her cast tucked between her legs and breasts.

She still couldn't fathom that he'd been investigating for over nine months, without telling her, and without getting himself into serious trouble. One misstep would be all it took for someone to notice. She knew. They knew. He knew, and he did it anyway—did it in a misguided attempt to protect her, even though he had no gun, no shield, no partner with him.

She bit at her lip and pushed her toes into the soft leather. He had tried to solve it for her—to give her peace, to help her move on to—

Her mouth opened and she sucked in a breath. To break down the wall. He'd done it to break down the wall. He'd done it because she couldn't, because she couldn't live her life without solving it, but she couldn't solve it without losing her life. And without the case, she'd said, on the swings, that she couldn't—

She couldn't be with him if she still had the wall, and the only way to break it down was to solve the case he'd told her to stop solving. He'd put his life, their life, on hold, to save hers.

The realization socked her in the gut and she found that she couldn't quite breathe right. Slowly her cheeks moistened with surprised tears she didn't try to stop, her emotions a scattered mess of shock and grief and concussion.

"Kate?"

She turned her head and found him standing there, watching her as she reeled.

"Hey," she whispered, wiping at her cheeks.

"Why are you up…and here?" he asked, tentative as he sat down next to her.

She shrugged and then glanced at his hands as they twisted in his lap. "You tried to solve it for us."

He looked back from the board and stared at her. "I…I wanted to protect you."

She shook her head and moved her hand into his lap, twining with his. "For us, Castle. You tried to break the wall, because I couldn't."

He gaped at her for a moment and then nodded slowly. "I—you couldn't keep solving it, but I know you need to and I…you're not mad anymore?"

She shook her head. "I'm still pissed as hell, you stupid, stupid man," she said softly, watching as his lips twitched. She was still furious with him, but it was colored with love now, for his idiotic bravery and care and the loss he'd dealt with, knowing that he couldn't have her unless they solved the case that he'd had to stall so she could live.

"But I'm a little more in love with you for it, maybe," she offered, smiling as his eyes widened and his hands moved to curl her against his bare chest.

"No matter how amazing this is, it wasn't worth you being dead," he whispered into her hair, his arms tight across her back.

She breathed into his neck, opening her lips to kiss the thrumming vein beneath his skin. It didn't have to be either or. She didn't want it to be either or anymore. She didn't want the wall, and as she breathed him in, full of his deodorant and the hint of hospital and sweat, she decided that there didn't need to be a wall with her on one side and him on the other.

The ragged breath against the crown of her head flooded the ruins of her wall over, washed them away into a sea of acceptance and feeling. They'd solve it, together, someday. And she'd have her closure.

"Forget the wall," she said against his skin as she kissed her way up his jaw.

"Forget…" he stammered, pulling away to catch her eyes even as she tried to lean in and find his lips. "The case?"

"Someday," she told him, her voice firm. "Someday, together. No more risking your life for mine. No more this or that. Partners."

He searched her eyes for a moment, his fingers stroking over her cheeks. "Partners," he murmured, a smile spreading over his face. "You're sure?"

She glanced over at the smart board, black and blank, hiding a tangled mess of facts that promised only pain, any way she spun it now. And whether or not they solved it, her mother would still be dead—a break through she'd had with Burke two months ago. Her mother would always be dead, but Castle—Castle was alive.

"I'm sure," she said, bringing her eyes back to his. "You sure?"

"Oh," he sighed, leaning forward to press his lips to hers, warm and soft, his hand coming to cradle the back of her head. "I'm sure, Kate," he whispered against her lips. "So very sure."

She smiled and felt his answering one as she wrapped her arm around his neck, her cast caught between them. Damn, she wanted two hands for this.

He must have felt the change in her kiss because he pulled back with a breathless laugh. "Not while you're concussed."

"Castle," she growled, trying to crowd closer even as he gently pushed her away.

"We have time," he said softly, brushing her hair behind her ear, tender.

Against her own will, she smiled, the look in his eyes so full, overwhelming, wonderful—full of promise and future and love.

His smile answered hers and he carefully brought her casted arm to his chin, kissing her exposed fingers. "Lots and lots of time."

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><p><strong>AN: For a semi-Epilogue, see my story <em>Coordination<em>, which was the impetus for this one. _Partners_ took on a life of its own, but the basic outline still fits.**

**Thank you for reading!**

**ALSO! The Castle Fanfiction Awards are here, at: Castle Fic Awards (.) com! A bunch of really awesome and talented people and stories have been nominated. Go and support your friends, favorites, and castle community!**


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